Ghost of November Past
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: It all started with Joe and Vanessa's research project for their history class. Deciding to use the Stone Point Lighthouse for their subject seemed like the perfect choice – lots of interesting historical data, after all. Then along came another project – cheering up the depressed Matt Eckersley. What better way than to involve him in a research project – right?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, cell phones often 'flipped shut' and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen. Follows _September Reprise_ in the story arc.

 **Ghost of November Past**

by

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 1

Joe Hardy stepped into the front hall of his home, shaking raindrops off in a shining scatter. "Brrrr!" he exclaimed, to no one in particular. "It's COLD out there!" He removed his jacket and hung it on the closet doorknob to drip, then ruffled a hand through his soppy blonde hair, distributing more water on the floor.

"Hi, honey!" Laura stepped out of the kitchen to give her younger son a hug and kiss of greeting. "Oooh, you are wet!" she commented with a chuckle. "Kick off your shoes, if they're muddy," she offered sage advice, glancing at his sodden feet.

"They aren't – just wet," he replied, and squelched towards the family room, where he hoped to find a fire in the fireplace. Laura, eyeing the wet footprints across the parquet flooring of the hallway, shook her head in resignation and returned to the kitchen, seeking a towel to mop up the water.

"Hi." Frank glanced up, turning his attention from the television to his brother. "You look like a drowned rat." He pushed a button on the remote control and muted the sound.

"I know," Joe responded with a wry grin. "It's raining cats and dogs out there." He stepped nearer to the fireplace and held out his hands, grateful for the extra warmth. "You're home earlier than I expected; weren't you flying a run this afternoon?"

"Shorter than I'd thought; I caught a nice tailwind on the way home," Frank explained. "Jack's going to have the dickens of a time tomorrow morning, unless it clears."

"I hope it clears!" Joe muttered. "Vanessa and I have to start working on our research project for history, and I don't want to slog around in the rain."

"Did you decide what to do it on?" his brother inquired.

"Yeah, we're going to do the old lighthouse on Stone Point."

Frank's dark eyebrows raised slightly. "Stone Point? That's one of the oldest ones around here, isn't it? I seem to remember some story or other about it – somebody disappeared there, about a hundred years ago or so." He shook his head. "I can't remember any details."

"Maybe we can work something into the report about the disappearance, if we can find anyone who knows about it," Joe commented with interest. "Local color, and all that. At least it would make for something interesting!"

Frank's reply was cut short by the ringing of the telephone. He stretched an arm to where the cordless phone rested on the couch, and answered the summons.

"Hardy residence."

" _Frank?"_ A familiar voice reached the elder Hardy's ears.

"PHIL!" Delight spread across Frank's features. "Hey, it's great to hear from you! How's it going?" Across the room, Joe smiled too, glad that the call was from such a good friend. Although Phil Cohen was _Frank's_ best friend, he and Joe were close too. Since Phil had moved to New York City to attend college, both Hardys missed him.

" _Not bad – at least from my point. Joe there? Tell him to pick up, that way I can talk to both of you at once."_

Frank relayed the request, and Joe went into the kitchen to pick up the phone there. But Phil didn't sound as carefree as his words indicated. The three talked a few minutes, then Phil carefully cleared his throat and broached the real reason for his call.

" _You remember Matt, don't you? My roommate?"_

"That's a funny question!" Joe snorted. "Of course we remember Matt!" In his mind, he pictured Matt Eckersley as he had seen him last: slim and lithe and quite a bit shorter than he, Frank or Phil; longish, dark-blonde hair, hazel-green eyes, and an irresistible grin to go with an equally irresistible personality.

" _Well – let me tell you, you might remember him, but I don't think you'd_ _recognize_ _him right now,"_ Phil muttered glumly.

"What's wrong?" Frank asked with concern.

Phil sighed. _"You remember he has a girlfriend, Macey – right? She attended Juilliard with Allison, only she's a singer."_

Frank made a noise of assent. Joe was silent; he didn't recall Macey. He'd been unconscious in the hospital during that period of time. He didn't remember meeting _Matt_ then, either; his acquaintance with the other man dated – for Joe – from his graduation ceremony.

"She was going to start singing in _Les Miserables_ ," Frank noted, "on Broadway."

" _Right,"_ Phil affirmed. _"Well, they decided to do a cast swap with the people who do the London productions, and Macey was picked to go. Matt was excited for her, and delighted for her, naturally – but he misses her like crazy."_

"Understandable," Frank observed. How would he feel, he wondered, if Megan did something like that? _I think I'd curl up and die…._

" _Well, she went in August,"_ Phil continued, _"and Matt was okay for the first month or so – the tour was supposed to only be for three months. And then he got word that they've decided to extend it – to six months!"_

"Ouch!" Joe commented. "That's rough!"

" _You got_ _that_ _right!"_ Phil said with another sigh. _"Matt put up a good front when she called and told him, and all that – but ever since then, he's been down in the dumps. He was counting on her being home by Thanksgiving. So all he does is go to work, come home, and sit and stare at the TV every evening. I haven't heard him laugh in a week, and he hardly talks. Can you imagine Matt not_ _talking_ _? It's like living with a zombie."_ Another heartfelt sigh came across the connection. _"He's driving me NUTS!"_

"That's awful, Phil; we're really sorry," Frank said. He couldn't imagine cocky, insouciant Matt in the sort of condition Phil was describing.

"That must be hard on you," Joe murmured sympathetically.

" _In more ways than one,"_ Phil replied _. "Since Matt's home all the time, Alli and I never get any time alone,"_ he complained.

Joe suddenly began to cough, the sound crackling harshly through the phones. "S-sorry, swallowed wrong," he gasped, and continued to choke. "K-keep talking to Frank…" The sharp noises dulled; Joe had evidently covered the receiver with his hand, although Frank could hear him still coughing, in the kitchen.

"Is there anything we could do to help?" Frank inquired, not seeing how he or Joe could be of any assistance with Matt's and Phil's problems, except to offer sympathy – but still, he'd ask.

" _Well – that's why I called,"_ Phil admitted diffidently. _"I was wondering – hoping – that there might be something you guys were working on, that you might be able to get Matt involved in. You remember how wild he was to help, when you were looking for Alli's violin – and later, when we were looking for_ _you_ _, Frank."_

"I remember, but—"

" _Detective work might yank him out of his depression a little,"_ Phil continued, sounding slightly desperate. _"And really, he might be able to help. He's got plenty of time free, from work. He could come to Bayport…."_

Joe had evidently returned, from the sounds. He coughed softly a couple more times, then cleared his throat. "Okay, is this something I knew once and forgot?" he asked, delicately. "What does Matt do? For a living, I mean. Where does he work? And how could he help us, even if we were working on a case, which we're not?"

There was a soft intake of breath from Phil. _"Maybe you_ _didn't_ _know,"_ he conceded. _"It might never have come up. Matt's a photographer – he works as an independent contractor, free-lance. He just finished a big magazine article shoot."_

"A photographer? Really?" Joe considered that for a moment. "You mean – like – models?" he asked, with an interested lift in his voice.

Phil chuckled. _"Sometimes. More often, it's rooms being remodeled or redecorated, or gardens, or sporting equipment, or…tables of food. Or weddings, or anniversary parties, or bar mitzvahs. Anything and everything."_

"A photographer…" Frank considered the idea. "Joe, it's not a case, _per se_ , but what about that project you and Vanessa have to do? The research on the Stone Point lighthouse? You were going to take pictures, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but Vanessa and I are perfectly capable of taking our own photos—" Joe paused. "Well, I guess Matt might be able to give us a hand," he allowed.

" _Do you mean it?"_ Phil sounded jubilant. _"That would be_ _great_ _!"_

"Let us talk it over, and we'll call you back this evening," Frank told their friend. "When's Matt likely to be home?"

" _Any time now…and all night,"_ Phil muttered, and ended the call.

Frank turned off the phone and replaced it in its holder on the table. He heard Joe coming from the kitchen, laughing – laughing so hard that when he reached the family room, he sank into a heap on the floor and roared, tears of mirth flooding his blue eyes.

"What is so funny?" Frank demanded. He began to smile too, infected by Joe's contagious hilarity.

"It…was…Phil…." Joe gasped. "The part about – about Allison. He – couldn't just – come out and say "'Matt's…ruining my…my…s-se—' Overcome, he sprawled full length on the carpeting and buried his face in his arms, howling.

Frank, abruptly realizing the implications of Joe's words, joined his brother in whoops of laughter. Finally he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat with determination. "Okay, then, Operation Rescue it shall be," he announced. "Better call Vanessa and warn her. We'll try to cheer Matt up, get your project done with a professional flourish, and—" he paused for effect, grinning. "and give Phil a respite!"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, cell phones often 'flipped shut' and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, Max2013 and BMSH for your kind comments!

 **Ghost of November Past**

by

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 2

When Matt Eckersley arrived in Bayport a day later, he was warmly welcomed by the Hardys. Laura and Fenton had only met him once, after Joe's graduation ceremony, but Matt's personality and enthusiasm had charmed them immediately. When the boys explained to their parents about Matt's despondency over his absent girlfriend, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy had been amused, but agreed that at the very least, a change of scene might make Matt feel a little better.

"It's nice of you to try and help," Mr. Hardy commented, eyeing his sons over his coffee cup, at breakfast the morning after Phil's telephone call. "Although I'm not sure you'll be much of a substitute for Macey." His dark eyes twinkled wickedly.

"Fenton!" Laura reproved, through her laughter.

"Yeah, well…." Frank felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a grin, for more than one reason. He wondered whom he was helping more, Matt – or Phil? "He actually might be of some use. Never can tell when a photographer might come in handy, after all."

"And I'm willing to take any and all help with this historical research project!" Joe put in. "Van is, too!" He looked meaningfully at his older brother. "You and Megan are invited along; no extra charge."

"We'll keep it in mind," Frank replied dryly. He'd had no intentions of helping Joe with his schoolwork without a good and sufficient reason, but this was beginning to sound intriguing. And it might take them both – or all of them – to help divert Matt, after all.

When they had called Phil back, the evening before, it had taken some persuasion to get Matt to consent to come to Bayport. He knew why he was being coaxed there, he announced, and stubbornly held out against Joe's pleas for professional assistance with the research project he and Vanessa were doing. But Matt admitted that he wouldn't mind seeing the Hardys, for one thing, and had finally let himself be convinced that if nothing else, shots of the Stone Point lighthouse might look good in a photography portfolio, and could be legitimately called business.

Reluctantly, he agreed to come. "I'll be there tomorrow afternoon, dudes – cameras and all."

###

When the doorbell rang, announcing Matt's arrival, Joe was the one who answered. He opened the front door wide. "Matt! Great to see you again!" And then Joe stopped, his words of welcome catching in his throat as he took in Matt's appearance. _Shoot…Phil wasn't exaggerating, when he said Matt's really down!_

The last time he'd seen Matt, the young man had been whip-slender, but bouncing with energy. Matt now looked painfully gaunt, instead, and unutterably weary. He smiled at Joe, but the smile didn't reach his shadowed hazel-green eyes, and it wasn't Matt's usual enthusiastic grin. "Hey, dude," he murmured, and shared Joe's fist-bump listlessly. "It's nice of you to have me here…are you sure I'm not putting you out, though…?"

"Don't be silly. Come on in," Joe invited, and stepped back. Matt picked up the duffle bag he'd set on the porch, and another, professional-looking case, which Joe surmised held his camera equipment, and entered the house.

"Matt!" Frank hurried down the stairs with his hand extended to the newcomer. As Matt bent to set down his things once more, Frank's eyes met Joe's, his dark brows winging upward in consternation. Joe gave him a little nod of understanding.

Matt stood straight and smiled again, a little more naturally this time, and clasped Frank's hand warmly. "Good to see you, Frank dude. Good to see you both. Hope I'll be able to give you a hand with your project, Joe."

"Come on, we'll show you where to dump your stuff." Frank turned and re-ascended the stairs, followed by Matt and Joe. "Right in here." He opened the door to the guest room and waved a hand. "Bathroom's there, across the hall. Want to settle in, or unpack later?"

"Uh – later, I think." Matt looked around the spacious bedroom with appreciation. "Whoa, this is nice, dude!" He set the case on the bed, carefully, and then dropped the duffle bag beside it.

"It used to be our Aunt Gertrude's room, when she lived with us," Joe volunteered. "But she lives in Florida now. Come on downstairs," he urged then.

"How was the drive from New York?" Frank inquired, as they descended the stairs once more. "Traffic okay?"

"Wasn't too bad."

Laura, who had been reading in the family room, stood to greet Matt warmly, hugging him as affectionately as if he'd been Phil or Tony or Chet, in and out of the house for years, instead of a relative stranger; and Matt's smile bloomed a little more at this sign of welcome.

"We're glad to have you here, Matt; please make yourself at home, and we'll try to treat you like family, rather than a guest," Laura told him. "In other words, you may get yelled at just like the other boys," she added, laughing softly, "or end up having to take out the garbage or clean the garage."

"Cool!" Matt's eyes twinkled briefly, and Joe, watching, nodded silent approval at Frank. _Good for Mom!_

Laura didn't linger with them, but shortly excused herself, leaving the three to get reacquainted with each other. Matt was anxious to hear about the Hardys' latest investigations, and listened to their recital of the Bayport Community College's disturbed arsonist, openmouthed.

"Whoa, that guy was one seriously sick dude!" he exclaimed. "I'm sure glad everything turned out okay."

"So am I," Frank replied quietly, but with heartfelt emphasis.

"And your football team's like actually won three games, man?" Matt turned to Joe, a teasing light briefly aflame in his eyes. "Totally rad!"

"Three more than I thought we'd win," Joe admitted, grinning. "We've got four left to play. But Matt, I want to hear about your photo shoots! C'mon, spill! Have you gotten to meet any famous fashion models, or sports figures?"

Slowly, they drew Matt out of his careful 'company manners' and the dejected reserve he had arrived with; slowly, he began to relax, and the engaging grin showed more and more frequently on his face. The familiar gesture – shoving back a wayward, dangling lock of hair – made its appearance, and the equally familiar slang phrases slipped into his speech.

"How'd you like to see the rest of the house?" Frank asked, when they reached a lull in the conversation about Matt's latest job.

"That'd be cool," Matt nodded and got to his feet. "Lead the way, dude."

Since it seemed logical, Frank led the way first to the basement, and after a cursory cruise through storage closets and laundry facilities, they stopped at the door to the little darkroom.

"Don't laugh," he eyed Matt warningly. "I realize this is nothing, compared to what you're used to, but—"

"Dude, I am not going to laugh!" Matt vowed. "I'm impressed that you have a darkroom at all!" After inspecting the room, and making admiring noises, Matt added a further comment. "You don't need my help with the pictures for your project, Joe dude, this proves it!"

"Hah!" Joe snorted derisively. "We can develop pictures we take. That doesn't mean we take good pictures! Artistic pictures. An A-on-the-project pictures. I'm counting on you for that, Eckersley!"

Matt chuckled a little, and let the subject drop.

Disregarding logic for once, Frank proceeded to lead the little procession up two flights of stairs to the second floor, and he and Joe escorted Matt through all the various bedrooms and baths located there.

"Oh man, what a setup!" Matt gazed enviously at the stereo system in Joe's room. "How loud can you crank it up?"

"Louder than necessary," Frank inserted the dry comment before Joe could reply. "It rattles the stuff on the walls!"

Joe, standing out of eyeshot, stuck his tongue out briefly at his older brother's back. "We'll wait until there's no one else in the house, Matt, and then I'll show you," he offered.

"Dude!" Matt grinned approvingly and walked through the shared bathroom to Frank's room. "Wow, you've got almost as much computer stuff as Phil!"

Frank chuckled. "Not quite. And not the same caliber."

Making their way back to the main floor, the boys went on with the house tour. They showed Matt Fenton's study, then cruised through the dining room. Matt stared about appreciatively.

"Really nice," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's so – pretty. And – I don't know, it just…feels nice." Frank and Joe exchanged smiling glances; they liked their home, and it was always a good feeling when other people appreciated it too.

They finished in the kitchen, where Laura was working on preparing supper. She greeted them with a smile that included all three; Matt blushed, seemingly unable to take his eyes off his hostess.

"Mom, when's dinner?" Joe opened the refrigerator door and gazed into the interior reflectively.

"As close to six as I can hit it, assuming your dad is home," Laura replied. "Keep that in mind, if you three are going to start munching now!"

"I wasn't going to start munching unless dinner was going to be late," Joe defended himself, and closed the refrigerator door. "Matt, want to unpack now, before dinner's ready?"

"Yeah." Matt followed his escorts from the room, glancing back at Laura, who gave him another sweet smile. His soft comment drifted back to her: "Dude, your mom's really nice…."

###

Matt unpacked while regaling the Hardys with more anecdotes from his job situations, and a few comments regarding what had been transpiring with Phil and himself in the past months. He didn't bring up the subject of Macey, but when Frank gently alluded to it, Matt smiled wistfully.

"Yeah – I miss her, man. She's loving every second of it, over there; I am like so happy for her…. But I miss her like crazy."

"She'll be home soon. March isn't that far away," Joe offered a crumb of comfort, realizing how lame his words sounded.

Before Matt could reply, they heard a voice through the open door, calling from downstairs. "Frank, Joe, Matt – dinner's ready."

Matt leaped from his seat on the bed, smiling with relief at the timely interruption. "C'mon dudes; I'm starving!"

When they reached the dining room, they found Fenton Hardy already seated, and Laura just setting the last serving dish on the table. Frank and Joe quickly sat in their accustomed places, and Matt slid into the indicated seat, which happened to be between Joe on one side and Fenton around the corner of the table.

"Hello, Matt! Nice to see you again! We're glad to have you here." Mr. Hardy extended a hand and gripped Matt's warmly.

"Hey, Mr. Hardy, it's nice to be here." Appreciation glowed again in Matt's eyes at the sincere welcome.

Dishes started circulating about the table, and for a few minutes the conversation consisted of brief phrases such as "Mmmm, I love these," "Matt, that's hardly enough; take more," "Pass the butter – and the salt and pepper," and "Dibs on the biggest one!" Finally everyone settled down to eating, and eventually conversation resumed.

"Matt, how long have you been a free-lance photographer?" Laura directed the question to their guest as she passed the dish of scalloped potatoes to him, offering second helpings.

"Uh – it's been…" Matt paused, evidently mentally counting time. "Two years now, give or take a couple months." He glanced at Laura and blushed again. "I worked as an assistant while I was still in college, and then started out on my own after I graduated." He served himself more potatoes, then passed the dish across the table to Frank, who had held out a hand in request. "Mrs. Hardy, this tastes so good – I mean, I haven't had a home-cooked dinner that wasn't made by Phil or me in a long time! And neither of us qualifies as much of a cook. Alli tries, sometimes – but she's not too good at it either."

Laura smiled her appreciation. "You don't go home to visit your family often, then?" she enquired. "Where does your family live, Matt? Somewhere close? Tell us about yourself."

"Ah, they're alive and well, at 'Surfside'," Matt smiled wryly, took a quick gulp from his water glass, and continued speaking. "That's in California – Palisades. That's where I was born and raised."

"You're a long way from home," Fenton commented quietly.

"Yeah – well, my dad's like, this corporate bigwig." Suddenly words were tumbling out of Matt in an unchecked spate. "My mom, she like does the socialite, corporate wife thing. Lady of the manor, and all that. All the right boards and charities and fundraising dinners. Neither of them is home much. And I don't have any siblings."

A defensive note crept into Eckersley's voice. "My folks don't really like each other all that well, you know? They stay married because of money – and social standing. My dad won't divorce my mom because he doesn't want her to get half of what he's got…and Mom won't leave because she'd lose all the prestige she's got by being married to him."

"Matt, I'm sorry; that's very sad," Laura murmured softly. Frank and Joe exchanged quiet glances across the table.

"Yeah…" Matt nodded soberly. "I spent all my free time on the beach, in high school. Didn't want to be home any more than I had to. When I finished, I couldn't get out of there fast enough. New York was as far away as I could get." A sudden wry grin creased his narrow features. "I really love New York, you know? Except for the lack of real beaches. My dad put me through NYU, I love the photography gig, and I'm on my own. And I like it that way!" he added, a trifle defiantly.

Suddenly realizing just how much he'd inadvertently revealed, Matt smiled sheepishly around the table, feeling the color rising in his cheeks. "Jeez, I said a whole lot more than I'd intended to – sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry for being such a blabbermouth. I had a great childhood, I didn't mean to make it sound like I didn't! And I'm cool with my parents, really. We do love each other. We just…get along better when they're there – and I'm here."

"Matt – it's okay, we understand," Fenton said quietly, and when Matt glanced uncertainly at him, still embarrassed, the older man smiled with such warmth that somehow, Matt felt the words weren't just empty politeness. Still flushing, he looked at the others – and got the same feeling. He relaxed, his mouth quirking into another reluctant smile.

"Thanks…." Matt cleared his throat and addressed Joe. "So, man, tell me more about your project, that you want me to take pictures for," he requested.

"Well…" Joe pondered a moment. "Stone Point's located on the far curve of Barmet Bay. It's one of the oldest lighthouses around here. It's been there since the old days of the mooncussers."

Matt frowned in confusion. "Whoa, dude, the whats?"

"Mooncussers," Joe repeated. "A sort of pirate – they'd lure ships onto the rocks to wreck them and then take the cargo."

"But why such a weird name?"

"Because," Fenton interposed, "their plans only worked when there wasn't a moon. When there was, the ship's people could see the rocks and not be fooled by the false lights. So, the story goes that the pirates cursed the moonlight – hence the name."

"Oooh!" Matt shivered briefly, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Totally rad!"

"Anyway, we're supposed to do a full research project," Joe continued, "with historical data, pictures, interviews – and it's worth half our grade! Vanessa and I are going to go to the city historical society office tomorrow, to do research and arrange interviews, and see about getting access to the lighthouse." He grinned at Matt. "The photographs are where you come in!"

"Do my best, man," Matt promised. "I'll do my best."

"That sounds like fun, Joe," Laura commented. "I haven't been out to Stone Point for years, but I remember going there for a Fourth of July celebration when you boys were small. There's quite a bit of land there, and trees – and the fireworks display was incredible! You two loved it—" Abruptly, she stopped speaking, and the enthusiasm in her eyes dimmed slightly. _Fourth of July…am I ever going to be able to think of that date again, without remembering Linda? Without seeing her…?_ A gentle squeeze on her left hand recalled Mrs. Hardy to the present, and she smiled gratefully at Frank, who had somehow sensed her disquiet, and reached beneath the table to take her hand in his. "Well – if everyone's finished, I'll bring in dessert." Quickly, she got to her feet and started clearing the dinner plates off.

Obeying a slight gesture from his father, Joe rose to help, shaking his head when Matt started to do the same. "Stay put, Eckersley; you'll get your chance to help later!"

In a few minutes Laura and Joe returned; Joe carrying small plates and Laura bearing an enormous chocolate layer cake. Frank murmured an appreciative 'Yum!' and Matt's eyes bulged as he beheld the dessert.

"Mrs. Hardy, that's like the hugest cake I've ever seen in my life!" he exclaimed in awe.

Laura laughed. "I can't take credit for it; it's from a place called _Das_ _Bäckerei._ I'm experimenting with their stuff in preparation for Frank's birthday."

"Dude, you got a birthday coming up?" Matt eyed Frank expectantly.

"Uh – yeah." Frank nodded, watching as Laura served the multi-layered cake.

"He's turning 20!" Joe chortled. "Gettin' old, bro!"

Matt turned to Joe and swatted him gently. "Watch it," he warned. "Twenty's like, still a kid, ya know!"

Recalling that Matt was nearly four years older than Frank, Joe subsided, but his eyes gleamed with mischief.

Laura and Fenton took their dessert plates into the living room to catch the last of the evening news, but Frank, Joe and Matt remained at the dining table, and the conversation again returned to the Stone Point lighthouse and Joe's research project.

"I talked to people at the historical society today," Joe reported, "and someone from there is going to go with Vanessa and me out to the lighthouse, to give us a quick tour, after we get some preliminary information from the record books. We can go back," he added, "but this is just a first-time run-through, to sort of get acquainted with the place." He looked from Matt to Frank. "If we could all go – maybe late Saturday afternoon, after the game? – we could really start scoping the place out. Whaddya think, Frank? Would you and Megan like to come?"

Frank looked a little dubious. "I have a flight in the morning," he temporized, "but if I get back in plenty of time – sure. If Megan wants to. I think she will; she likes stuff like that – historical things. But we're not going to do your project for you!" he added in warning. "You've already got enough people helping you, without adding Megan and me into the mix!"

Joe just grinned.

Deciding to surprise Laura, the three carried their dishes to the kitchen and proceeded to load all the dinner dishes into the dishwasher. Then they raided the refrigerator for glasses of apple cider.

"It's stopped raining," Frank observed. He opened the back door and looked out. "The stars are out. Want to go outside for a little bit?"

After a brief detour for jackets, they took their drinks and went out to the back patio, turning on a few outside lights. The outdoor furniture had been put away for the winter, but they perched on the edges of planter boxes and continued their desultory conversation. It was chilly, but not too cold, and the rain's cessation was a welcome change.

Matt looked about admiringly. "Dudes, you have a righteously cool house, you know that? Do you suppose your 'rents would mind if I took some pictures of it, tomorrow? The way the lights and shadows fall, with the big trees, and all that – totally rad! I'd love to make use of it!"

Frank and Joe looked at each other and grinned. This wasn't something they'd expected, but…

Frank nodded agreeably to Matt. "I'm sure the ''rents' won't mind if you take photos of the house," he said with a soft chuckle. "I'll bet Mom would be very flattered that you wanted to!" Absently, he noticed a light tickling sensation on the side of his neck, and lifted his hand to brush at it. _Must be a little bug, or something…._

"Oh, man, I am like totally psyched…" Matt's excited voice suddenly choked off, and he narrowed his eyes, his gaze riveted on Frank in the soft light. "Dude…Frank-man…." His voice was tight and stifled down to a near-whisper, and the Hardys saw beads of sweat suddenly pop out on their guest's face. "Frank – you so totally do NOT want to move right now, man….Trust me, man – DON'T MOVE!"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and BMSH for your comments.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 3

Frank stared at their guest, confusion filling his dark eyes. For a moment, he wondered if Matt was merely joking around – but the expression on the other man's face told him otherwise. Matt wasn't kidding – his eyes were wide with fear!

"Might want to listen to him, bro…" Joe's voice was calm, but Frank could see his brother's eyes were fastened on _whatever it was_ that had scared the daylights out of Matt. Was this some kind of a joke? Something like a classroom of students suddenly staring at the ceiling, making the teacher look up? No…no, it wasn't that. Frank felt again the tiny tickling sensation on his neck.

"What is it?" he whispered, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Dude," Matt breathed, "you got a humongous spider – the size of my thumb – on your neck. I'd swear it's poisonous."

Frank inhaled slowly. "Matt, this is the Northeast, not the California desert," he murmured. "We don't have poisonous spiders around – especially not this time of year!"

"Regardless of whether we do or not," Joe said casually – very casually, considering the intent, concentrated expression on his face, "you've got one on your neck right now. It's a black widow, Frank – so…stay put."

Frank glared at Joe, but didn't move – just in case. "There's no way you can tell if it's a black widow," he hissed. "They have marks on their stomachs, not their backs. It's probably just a regular spider that got lost, and didn't know it shouldn't be outside in this sort of weather. Spiders don't belong outside here, in November."

"Black widows are a darker, shinier black than other spiders," Joe murmured, still not taking his eyes from Frank's neck. "I did that report in the eighth grade, remember? This is no ordinary spider, bro; it's BIG!"

"I've seen 'em before too," Matt put in. "Frank, stay still, man!"

At that moment, Frank decided to take Matt's advice and stay put. He could feel that infinitesimal tingling, tickling sensation again…and felt his heartbeat elevate just a bit in response. _I could probably move quick enough to brush it off – shake it loose – without being bitten…but why take unnecessary chances if I don't have to?_

He kept his eyes on Joe, who had shifted slightly, and was digging into the pocket of his jeans; after a moment Joe pulled out his wallet.

"What's that for…?" Frank began, then paused, watching his brother take out a credit card. "What the – are you going to offer it a shopping trip to get it to leave, or something?"

"Just don't move, and it'll all be over with before you know it," Joe muttered, leaning closer.

"I don't think I like the sound of that too awfully much…" Frank gritted his teeth and concentrated on remaining still.

Slowly…cautiously…Joe flattened the card against Frank's neck, and slid it toward the spider. "Okay…" he breathed, the word nearly soundless. Very, very carefully, he edged the card underneath the dangerous arachnid's body…

…and with a quick snap of his wrist, flipped the spider as hard and as far into the back yard as he could – just as Frank gave a sudden shout:

"Don't fling it!"

Joe stared at him, open-mouthed. "For Pete's sake, why not?! It's too late now, anyway."

"It's – we don't want it out there loose in the yard." Frank rubbed gingerly at his neck, making sure there were no punctures in his skin. "What if it crawled into the house, or one of us stepped on it in the yard, or something!"

Joe gave him a patient look. "Are you going to get over these paranoid delusions any time soon? Frank, it's November – it's supposed to get down to around 35 degrees tonight. That spider's toast – or rather, just the opposite. And if you think any of us are dumb enough to go roaming around in the back yard, knowing there's a black widow spider lurking…. She should be down in the desert somewhere anyway, eating her mates and having baby black widow spiders, not hanging out here in freezing-cold Bayport!"

Matt chuckled. "You two dudes are riots, you know? Makes me wish I had a brother."

Deadpan, without missing a beat, the Hardys replied as one: "No you don't!" And then simultaneously burst into laughter.

"How did it get here?" Frank's voice was still a little shaky, although the laugh had relieved most of his tension.

Joe grinned and gestured towards the street. "Remember Mr. Hamilton, down the street? He's into spiders – has a whole collection of them, or did. I interviewed him for that old report. I'll bet one of his escaped and roamed over here."

"People who keep poisonous spiders in their houses are sick…" Frank shuddered and swiped at his neck again, remembering the creepy sensation of tiny, tickling feet there.

"Come on, let's go inside," Joe suggested. "It's getting too cold for me, let alone the spiders."

Accordingly, they returned to the house and went upstairs, shedding their coats in the hall closet.

"Matt, if you want to take a look at what I've pulled off the Internet about lighthouses…" Joe tilted his head towards his room and lifted his eyebrows inquiringly.

Matt nodded and followed the younger Hardy; Frank detoured towards his own room. "Be there in a bit; I need to talk to Megan," he explained. A few minutes later, her soft voice was filling his head, making him warm all over, and dispelling the remaining spider-jitters…an incident Frank had absolutely NO intention of sharing with his girlfriend! After a time of conversation which Frank suspected Joe would disparage as _total mush,_ he brought up the subject of the lighthouse.

"Would you be interested in going out there on Saturday afternoon?" he asked. "It'll probably be cold, but it might be fairly interesting."

" _I might be,"_ Megan conceded. _"Given the right incentives, of course. Are cuddling, hot cocoa and cozy fires involved anywhere in this expedition?"_ She was giggling, but there was a hopeful lilt in her voice, all the same.

Frank laughed. "Baby, this is a trip to a lighthouse, not a sleigh ride! I can't make any promises…I don't think there are any cozy fires, but I'll see what I can do to provide the hot cocoa and the cuddling, at least – okay?"

" _I have every confidence in you,"_ she purred – and then sighed and added, regretfully, _"Unfortunately, I have to cut this short; I have studying to do."_

"Ah, darn it, baby…" Frank sighed too, with disappointment. "Well, okay. Study hard – I'll see you in class tomorrow. Love you lots." He hung up, smiling, and made his way into Joe's room to join him and Matt. The smile widened. Cozy fires and cuddling with Megan were enough incentive to convince him that a trip to Stone Point lighthouse was a good idea…provided, of course, that the aforementioned fires were ones they were allowed to _set_ after they got there!

#####

Rain was still falling steadily as Joe and Vanessa, in Van's jeep, drove to the old restored mansion which was the home of the Bayport Historical Society, the next afternoon. Joe stared glumly out the window at the rain and grimaced. _Is it ever gonna stop?_ Football practice earlier that day had been dismal; they'd slipped and skidded their way across the football field, trying and failing to run the new plays Coach Blankenship had devised. Joe wasn't looking forward to the next day's game. _It's supposed to rain clear through Monday….sheesh, that makes for a_ _really_ _swell weekend!_

"Joe—" Vanessa laughed softly as she took a look at the sullen, disgusted look on her boyfriend's face. "Stop pouting!"

Instead, he shoved his lower lip out further, exaggerating the sulk as Vanessa continued to giggle.

"You looked like a drowned rat after practice," she commented, a wicked, teasing light in her blue-gray eyes. "A muddy drowned rat!"

"I felt like a muddy drowned rat," he admitted. "And lucky me, I get to do it all over again tomorrow, too!" He sighed, his face a total mask of discontent.

"Ah, Baby, it'll be all right." Vanessa stopped giggling and gently rubbed his shoulder in an attempt at comfort, then patted it and returned her attention to her driving.

"Why are we taking your jeep, anyway?" Joe asked, determined to find fault with anything and everything he could.

"Because," Vanessa shuddered with distaste, "the Aztek needs to get cleaned out before I'm riding in it again! It's a complete disaster area inside!"

"Hey, that's good clean dirt!" Joe protested, grinning in spite of himself. "The product of today's labor – healthy mud!"

"Fine, fine – but you can keep your healthy mud to yourself!" she shot back.

Vanessa parked the Wrangler as close as she could to the historical society headquarters, a hundred-year-old but completely refurbished mansion located in the old downtown district of Bayport. She smiled, staring up through the rain-spattered windshield at the old Victorian-styled house. Built straight up, with odd-angled protrusions jutting out, a curved tower echoed by a curving porch below, and tons of gingerbread ornamentation, the house looked as if it had recently been painted – a mossy green shade.

"That green color's probably pretty when the sun is shining," she commented, "but right now, with the rain, it's just a muddy green."

"You have got an obsession with mud today," Joe snorted. He shrugged. "Whatever worked for them is fine with me. Right now, all I want to do is get inside without getting wet…again."

"Lucky we brought umbrellas." Vanessa twisted to grab her umbrella from the small back seat, and waited for Joe to get his, before the two of them flung open the Jeep doors, popped the umbrellas open, and simultaneously sprinted for the front door of the Historical Society, through the downpour.

"Whew!" Joe shook himself off a little, and pushed against the door, which glided smoothly ajar at his touch. The two stepped into a beautifully decorated foyer, where they shook out their umbrellas and set them in the large, gold umbrella stand in the corner. "I feel guilty getting things wet," he muttered in Vanessa's ear.

"Hi there!" The welcoming feminine voice was warm and lively, a voice that people would like to listen to.

Joe ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to smooth out the rumpled waves, and smiled as he watched the woman approach. _Young_ _woman_ , he amended silently, as she drew nearer. _Older than us, but not much. Dani's age, maybe._ Appreciatively, he took in her appearance: dark brown hair and tip-tilted, intense brown eyes. _She's not quite what I was expecting – thought a historical society rep would be…well…_ _old_ _!_

"Welcome to the Bayport Historical Society. Are you Vanessa and Joe?"

Vanessa nodded and held out her hand. "We spoke on the phone, I believe. I'm Vanessa Bender, and this is Joe Hardy."

"Cherise LeGault; nice to meet you." Cherise shook hands with them both, and her smile warmed up an already intriguing face. She was dressed appropriately for the day: a long-sleeved, autumn-gold sweater, worn with a long dark-gold skirt, and brown boots beneath. "I'm going to be the one helping you out. I'm an assistant here at the historical society. I'm working on my doctorate in Northeast History from the University of New York-Bayport, and I practically grew up in that old lighthouse!"

Cherise turned, motioning Joe and Vanessa to follow her. She led them through the foyer and further into the building, to a small room set to one side, which contained a desk and several shelves on the back wall behind it, as well as chairs and a small table. She gestured to the chairs, inviting them to sit, and seated herself behind the table.

"You say you know a lot about the lighthouse?" Vanessa queried, sitting down. She reached for one of Joe's hands, almost without realizing what she was doing. It wasn't a possessive gesture, it was more that she wanted to touch him…she loved touching him. She felt his strong fingers interlace with hers, and smiled softly to herself.

"I do." Cherise nodded. "My parents took me there when I was about five – and I've been obsessed with it ever since! I went there at every opportunity – I'm sure I made an absolute pest of myself. I thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world. I've done several reports on it, over the years, and I've made it a point to learn everything I can about Stone Point."

"It sounded intriguing," Joe commented. "My mom says she remembers going to a Fourth of July celebration there, when I and my brother were little. Fifteen years ago, or so."

Cherise nodded again. "Yes, they used to have them there; they shot off fireworks over the Bay. It was beautiful!" She smiled. "Okay, let's get down to business. I've been given permission to loan you keys to the lighthouse and the light keeper's cottage, so that you can come and go as you need to – trusting you to always lock up and reset the alarm system when you do, of course! There have been some problems lately with break-ins out there, so we're being very cautious about that right now."

Vanessa raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What would someone want to steal from a lighthouse? It's not like there's anything valuable, is there?"

"Yes and no." Cherise chuckled, then cleared her throat. "Sorry – we're not worried about theft so much as vandalism, actually – unfortunately, people seem to take great pleasure in 'tagging' places like that. But there is something else, of course – the actual lens that lights it. The lens at the top of a lighthouse can be worth millions of dollars. The one at Stone Point is worth about $3.5 million!"

Both teens' eyes grew wide, and Joe and Vanessa looked at each other in shared amazement, then back at Cherise. They were totally shocked by her statement.

"Why so much?" Vanessa breathed, incredulously.

"You really want to know?" Cherise asked in her turn.

"Yes!" Vanessa reached for her bag. "Could I record this, please? It sounds like something important!"

"Of course, but I will be giving you copies of documents from when the lighthouse was built, that will give you basically the same information." Cherise smiled as she watched Vanessa pull out the small tape recorder and turn it on. "Okay, well the thing about the lens is—"

"Cherise!" The interruption came from the doorway, where another woman, older, with gray hair and rimless glasses, stood, her eyes wide with shock. "Something horrible's happened! Someone's broken into the Stone Point lighthouse! We have to get out there right away!"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

T _hank you, Cherylann, BMSH and Max2013 for the feedback._

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 4

With an exclamation of dismay, Cherise LeGault got to her feet and stepped around her desk, hurrying to the older woman's side. Joe and Vanessa rose also, turning towards the two.

"Ellen, please, clarify what you just said," Cherise requested. "What do you mean, the lighthouse was broken into?" She glanced at the listening Joe and Vanessa. "This is Mrs. Ellen Waiford, one of the Society's secretaries," she explained briefly. "Ellen, go on, please. Did something happen to the lens? Was it broken?"

"No, no, no." Mrs. Waiford shook her head in denial. "We just got a call from the security firm that handles the alarm system at the Stone Point lighthouse. Someone has violated the security; one of the alarms has gone off. The police are on their way there right now."

Cherise gave a little sigh. "I suppose I should go out there and see what's going on," she said ruefully. "Someone from the Historical Society should meet with the police, after all." A small frown creased her forehead. "Are they sure it wasn't just Mr. Carter, the caretaker?"

"I suppose it might be," Mrs. Waiford conceded, "and if it is, they'll find out soon enough. But it shouldn't be – after all, Mr. Carter knows the codes for the alarms, and the passwords, and such, and he hasn't set off the alarm before. Oh dear, this is so upsetting…." The woman's voice, which had settled to conversational levels, now rose again, in her agitation.

"Mrs. Waiford, why don't you go sit down for a bit?" Cherise firmly shooed the secretary towards her office. "Maybe a glass of water…" In a few moments she returned, the rueful smile still curving her lips. "I'm sorry about this; I'm going to have to cut our talk short, and go out to the lighthouse, I'm afraid."

"That's okay; we understand," Vanessa assured her. "Does this sort of thing happen very often?"

"No, not usually," Cherise replied, taking her coat from the coat rack in her office and slipping it on. "There are four rather nice-sized houses built on Stone Point, within sight of the place, and the neighbors have always been good about keeping an eye on the lighthouse." A smile lighted her face. "Don't worry, I've notified them that there are going to be people poking around and getting data for a report; they won't call the police if they see you there."

"Cherise, could we maybe go out there with you? Maybe we could be of some help – for whatever went wrong." Joe made the suggestion with a hopeful uplift of his brows. When Vanessa caught his eye, he gave her a covert wink.

Cherise looked uncertain for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. "Why not? That way I can show you where things are while we're out there, and we won't have to make a separate trip later."

"We'll meet you there," Joe promised, and tugged Vanessa towards the front door. "Grab your umbrella, Babe," he advised, plucking his own from the stand, "and let's get moving!"

#####

Since the route from the Historical Society to the lighthouse took them very close to Elm and High, Joe and Vanessa decided on a quick detour – for two reasons. The first was to pick up Matt Eckersley. Alerted by a hasty call, Matt packed up some of his equipment in a smaller carry-case, and was waiting just inside the front door when Vanessa pulled the Jeep to a stop in front of the Hardy home.

The second reason was a practical one – they decided to switch over to Joe's Aztek, which would more readily fit three people plus camera equipment. Although Vanessa made a few disparaging comments about the condition of the vehicle, she was doing it mostly in fun…there wasn't really as much mud as she implied!

Matt climbed into the back seat, stowing the camera case securely on the floor behind Joe's seat. "I am like so totally jazzed about going to this place already!" he bubbled. "Even if it is raining!" Prepared for the weather, Matt was clad in a long, trench-coat type jacket and a broad-brimmed leather hat which slickly shed the rainwater. "I've got two waterproof cameras with me – I had a feeling the weather was going to be nasty! – and some really cool lens filters.…I'd love to get some rainy night shots of the lighthouse tonight – talk about a mood piece! I didn't think we'd get out there so soon, dude!" He smacked Joe on the shoulder lightly, his patented hyena grin in evidence.

"You'll get your chance for the eerie night shots," Vanessa informed him, peering through the windshield up at the lowering sky. There was a dusky twilight feel to it; the sun was there, it was supposed to be shining, but it was being thoroughly eclipsed by the heavy clouds. "Not only is it pouring, but it's going to be darker than normal, because of the cloud cover. You might get a chance at catching this odd light effect – although it'll be gone once the sun actually does go down, of course."

"Cool!" Matt sighed blissfully and settled into his seat. "That's even better! Talk about the totally awesome pics I can do – hey, will the light be on, d'you think?" he inquired abruptly. "The lighthouse light, I mean?"

"No clue," Joe answered, "I don't know if they run it all the time, or not. I sort of gathered that it's more used for special occasions now."

"Or when there are really bad storms," Vanessa reminded him. "Maybe it will be on tonight."

Matt emitted another blissful sigh and grinned again. "Dude! We're gonna score for sure, man!"

###

They drove through the outskirts of Bayport and beyond, to the ridge where Stone Point lighthouse was located on a rocky outcropping which extended into Barmet Bay. Joe spotted a group of people clustered near the structure, and parked as close as he could; the three got out and approached them.

Cherise LeGault was talking to two uniformed policemen, all three of them huddled beneath umbrellas. Another man was standing to one side, looking thoroughly drenched and unhappy as the rain pelted down onto his bare head. Yet another man stood apart, holding an umbrella over his head.

"Joe – Vanessa." Cherise's smile of welcome was a bit uncertain. "It took you longer to get here than I thought it would." She glanced questioningly at Matt.

"We stopped to switch cars," Joe explained, "and to pick up a friend who's going to be helping us with our report. Miss LeGault, this is Matt Eckersley; Matt, Cherise LeGault, of the Bayport Historical Society."

Matt nodded, and extended a cordial hand. "Nice to meet you."

Cherise smiled at him, shaking hands, and then turned to Joe. "It wasn't a break-in after all," she explained. "Mr. Baker," she indicated the unhappy-looking gentleman who was getting so very wet, "had car trouble. He came to the lighthouse thinking he could get warm and dry – and ended up setting off the alarm."

"Why didn't he just go to one of the houses?" Joe asked in a low tone. "Why come to the lighthouse?"

"I don't know," Cherise admitted. "I didn't think to ask him that."

The two police officers moved to talk to Mr. Baker, who appeared to be gratified for the shelter of their umbrellas.

"Come on," Cherise beckoned Joe, Vanessa and Matt towards the lighthouse itself. "Let's get in out of the rain, and I'll start getting you acquainted with the place." She led them to the door, and keyed in a code on the touchpad mounted beside it, then unlocked the door and ushered them inside.

"Well, here we are." Cherise flicked a light switch. They were standing in a small room which contained the bottom of a circular staircase which spiraled its way upward through the lighthouse. "There's not a lot to see here – not really much in the lighthouse itself. Just this room, the stairs going up, and the lens room itself. Of course, there's also an outer walk area – outside the glass. That's there so that caretakers can clean the glass, that sort of thing."

"Can we go up?" Vanessa was moving towards the staircase, eyes wide in anticipation.

"Sure, come on." Cherise led them up the curving stairs. Around, around, around…finally, they gained the room at the top where the gigantic lens was mounted.

"Wow!" Joe stared up at it. He hadn't realized just how big these things actually were! "It's gotta be ten feet wide!" Vanessa stood open-mouthed; Matt was already digging into his case for his camera, muttering to himself.

Cherise smiled proudly, pleased by their reactions to 'her' lighthouse. "This is a Fresnel lens. They were first created by a Frenchman, Augustine Fresnel, in 1822. That's F-R-E-S-N-E-L, Vanessa, despite the pronunciation." She pronounced it _Frey-nell._ "This particular lens was made in 1882. It was shipped over from France, and installed here in 1884." Still smiling, she paused, waiting while Vanessa madly scribbled notes, then went on. "The cost, at that time, was $12,000 – an incredible amount then."

"How big is it?" Joe asked, craning his neck.

"Twelve feet," Cherise replied proudly. "It has over one thousand prisms, and weighs about three tons."

"Three TONS?" Matt popped his head out from behind his camera. "Whoa, that is one large piece of glass, dude!" He disappeared again, without waiting for a reply, and resumed snapping pictures.

Cherise chuckled and continued dispensing information. "It's called a 'first-order' lens. Absolutely the best of the best, as far as lighthouse lenses go."

"If the lens is that big, that heavy," Joe asked in puzzlement, "how – WHY – would anyone worry about it being stolen? Wouldn't it be next to impossible to do it?"

Cherise sighed, the smile momentarily disappearing from her face. "Joe, if thieves want something badly enough, they'll find a way to take it. I've read of other Fresnel lenses being stolen, all over the United States, and still others vandalized so that they aren't worth anything. This one here in Bayport is one of the few that is still functioning and usable!"

Matt lowered his camera again. "Cherise, what do they use to light it?" he asked curiously.

"Well, back in the old days, it was a lamp, with five wicks which were arranged concentrically." Cherise's smile had returned again, along with her enthusiasm. "The lamps were fueled with sperm whale oil, or lard. When kerosene was discovered, it replaced the whale oil and lard—"

"The whales appreciated that!" Joe murmured to Vanessa, who giggled softly.

"—and eventually, incandescent light bulbs replaced the kerosene lanterns," Cherise concluded. "Of course, eventually that sort of did away with having to have a light keeper on the premises at all times. The lights didn't have to be lit each night or snuffed each morning. They could use timers on the switches instead."

Matt put away his camera, and Cherise led the little group back down the dizzying circles of steps, to the ground floor once again. They retrieved their umbrellas, and set out for the lightkeeper's house. It was a short walk; Cherise explained that there actually was an entrance from the house to the lighthouse proper, with a passageway between, but at the moment, it was padlocked, so they couldn't use it.

"We'll have to go through the front door of the house – oh, yes?" She broke off her explanation, as one of the police officers approached.

"Miss LeGault, we're going to take Mr. Baker back to his car now, and wait for a tow truck. Will you be all right here?"

"Of course I will. I'm going to finish a quick tour for these people, and then head back to town myself," Cherise replied warmly. "Thank you so much for coming."

The officers departed in their patrol car, Mr. Carter the caretaker resumed his duties, whatever they were, and Cherise led Matt, Joe and Vanessa into the lightkeeper's cottage.

"Cottage" was hardly the word for it, they found. This was no little shed, no decrepit hovel. It was actually quite a large house, two-storied, with several decently-sized bedrooms, a comfortably large kitchen and main room, and closets aplenty. There was still furniture in place; it looked as if it would be an enjoyable place to live. Cherise mentioned that it was more or less used as a museum, with period displays upstairs.

Matt took out a camera once more, and checked it over. "Is it okay if I wander around outside and take some shots?"

"Sure, Matt, go ahead," Joe replied absently, and Matt flashed him a quick grin before darting back out the door. Joe hurried to catch up with Vanessa and Cherise, who were doing a quick tour of the whole house.

"Well, there it is," Cherise announced, when the walk-through was completed. "Here is a set of keys for you. You and your friends can have pretty much complete run of the place. You're getting free access because so many people vouched for you," she added, with a slight warning tone in her voice. "Do please be careful not to damage anything, won't you?"

"We'll be very careful!" Joe vowed. "The only ones who should be here are Vanessa and me, Matt, and my brother and his girlfriend. And they're pretty responsible people!" he grinned. "Can we drop by the Historical Society tomorrow and pick up those copies of the documents you were going to give us?"

"I can do better than that," Cherise told him. "If you're going to be here tomorrow, I'll bring the documents to you. I often stop by; I don't mind the drive, even in the cold rain."

"We won't be here until late afternoon," Joe told her. "I'm playing in a football game earlier, and it starts at noon. But we'll come after it's over. How does 4:30 sound?"

"I can do 4:30," she nodded agreeably.

"Great, we'll plan on that, then."

Vanessa had been looking out the window. "Joe, do you suppose Matt's still out there trying to take photos?" she fretted. "It's raining so hard…"

"I suppose he must be, unless he got in the car; he didn't try going back into the lighthouse, because he would have set off the alarm again," Joe replied. "If he was smart, he's in the car."

Vanessa opened the door and put her head out, listening…frowning, both in worry and in concentration. "I thought I heard something….THERE! I knew I did!" She whirled towards Joe. "Joe, come on! There's something wrong with Matt – he's yelling for help!"

 _The information on the Fresnel lens was obtained at: www. lanternroom misc/ freslens. htm._


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

T _hank you, Cherylann, BMSH and Max2013 for the feedback._

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 5

 _Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man…._ Over and over, the mantra went through his head. _All I wanted was to get some good pictures…that's all…._ Splintered images shot through Matt's head, like video viewed under a strobe light. Snapping photos, changing lenses, snapping photos, stepping backwards, watching the lens…backwards…and then the abrupt, sickening sensation of nothing beneath his foot; the wet earth crumbling away in a shower of dirt and rocks. Slithering, sliding down, grasping frantically at grass which tore loose, at rocks which were too slippery to grip….A shock, as his descent abruptly halted.

And now here he was, holding on to what he devoutly hoped was a deeply rooted bush, his toes balanced on a small outcropping of rock. An outcropping which might support his weight and might not – a bush which might continue to keep itself rooted in the cliff face, or might suddenly give way or tear itself loose. _I'm gonna die here – no one's gonna hear me, and my hand's gonna slip on this damned plant – no, no, this WONDERFUL plant, don't listen to what I said, plant, you're wonderful…or this plant's gonna break off. You won't do that, will you, plant?_

Matt pressed himself as tightly as he could against the cliff, once more trying to drag enough breath into his lungs to yell. He was as near to total panic as he'd ever been in his life. It was even worse than when that creep, Robert, had burst into their apartment and attacked Phil, in June. His hair was plastered wetly to his forehead, and it kept getting in his eyes…he could only shake his head to get it out, not daring to let go his grip on the bush to use his hand – and even shaking his head was dangerous; what if he jerked the bush loose…?

"HELP! Somebody – Joe – somebody, please, HELP!" He screamed it again and again, stark terror in his voice. Could anyone possibly hear him, over the wind and the rain and the sound of the pounding waves below?

 _I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I know I'm gonna die. I don't wanna die. I'm gonna die. Oh, God, man… don't let me die…_

Matt could feel the rain falling, the drops hitting his head with impersonal, implacable force, driving into him. He was getting so cold….Frantically, he tried to tighten his hold on the plant, but his fingers were growing numb.

"JOE! Somebody! Help! Help me – please!"

 _If I move my feet and slip, it's all over…if the rain makes that little ledge my feet are on too slick, and I slip, it's all over…if the rain makes the bush too slippery and I lose my grip, it's all over. Splat. I'll hit the water and never be seen again…._ He clenched his teeth, trying not to see himself falling – falling backwards – hitting the rocks – the cruel rocks, the waves tossing spume and spray upwards. _Never be able to take pictures for Joe and Vanessa of the lighthouse…never to see Macey again…oh God!_

He knew he was panicking, and he couldn't help it. He couldn't stop how he felt. He could think of nothing except that he was going to die, right here and now. That and screaming for help. Could Joe get to him? Save him? He didn't know Joe well enough to be sure Joe could. Frank, now – Frank could. He was sure of that. He trusted Frank. But Joe? Joe was an unknown quantity; aside from that first encounter at the apartment, they'd only met a couple of times since. Was Joe as good – as capable – as his older brother? _Must be…to get out of all those scrapes Phil's told me about…told me about how Joe got Frank out of the woods when he was so badly hurt, in Tahoe. But that was for Frank…could he do it for me? Would he?_

"HELP! Somebody, please!" A gust of wind buffeted him, trying to tear him loose from the cliff, icy-cold raindrops battered him. He was shivering now, cold and fright and shock combining to overwhelm him. _Cold – so cold – so wet….so hard to…hang on…._

"MATT!"

He jerked, hearing his name. _Did I hear that? Or was it just my imagination?_ The wind picked up again, drowning out sound, and Matt ducked closer to the cliff, trying to huddle beneath the insufficient shelter of the bush, trying to get away from the gusts which threatened his fragile hold.

"MATT! Can you hear me?" The voice sounded further away. "Matt?"

 _NO! Don't leave!_ "JOE! Man, I'm here, Joe! I can't hold on much longer, man – I'm trying, but—" Frantically, Matt screamed upwards, trying to project over the wind, the rain, the waves. He risked moving his head, trying to look upwards, staring into the darkness.

"Matt! I'm right above you, hang on."

Joe had to be yelling, Matt knew, but man, his voice sounded so far away, like he was shouting through a long tunnel. He could hear Joe saying something else, not to him:

"Vanessa, there's a rope in the back of the Aztek, get it, quick; RUN, babe!" Then he was yelling to Matt again: "Just hold on, Matt. I'm going to lower a rope down. You just have to get your arms through it. So just hang on a little longer; we'll get you up in just a minute."

Relief – mixed with uncertainty. "Joe – dude – if I let go to put the rope around, I'm going to totally go splat all over the rocks! Just…ya know…" Matt's voice caught in his throat, and he was unable to continue. He was so totally terrified…all he wanted to do was rest. To relax. He wanted to _not_ be scared spitless, and to _not_ be wet and freezing cold, and to _not_ be stuck on this cliff. _I want to be up on top. Safe. Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Somewhere inside, where it's not raining and cold and wet and I'm not gonna drown, or be smashed to bits on the rocks. Oh God, I don't want to die…._ He was shaking so hard – so hard. He wasn't sure he could hold on much longer.

"Matt." The voice caught his flagging attention, penetrated his terrified thoughts. He looked up again, and now could see Joe above him in the dimness, closer now, leaning towards him. He must be lying on his stomach, hanging over the cliff edge. _Almost as if he could reach me – but no, not that close._ It was six feet. Maybe more. He couldn't tell – no matter what it was, it was too far, and Matt didn't want to figure it out, just now.

Suddenly, a bright light blossomed, and Matt blinked, looking down, squeezing his eyes shut. Cautiously, he squinted them open. Light was flooding the immediate area, illumination dispelling the rainy dusk. Matt took a deep breath and looked upwards. It was still rainy and cold and windy, but somehow, things didn't seem quite so bleak, now. _At least I can see Joe now – his silhouette, at least. Whatever._ He didn't want to think about it any more.

"Matt, listen to me." _He sounds so calm._ The thought flicked through Matt's brain. He wondered if the younger man really was as calm as he sounded. "You can do this," Joe continued, loudly projecting his words while still managing to keep his voice steady and reassuring. "When I drop the rope, let go with one hand and grab it. You're still going to be holding onto the bush with the other one. Put the loop around you, then switch hands. Tighten the loop, and we'll pull you up. It's okay, Matt; I'm not going to lose you, buddy. You don't weigh hardly anything, we'll have you up in no time."

Matt took a deep, shuddering breath. "O-okay." He was still scared, but if this was how it was going to have to go down, well….He waited, hearing a jumble of conversation above him, hoping Vanessa had gotten the rope there by now.

And here it came – a soft, heavy rope slithering down the cliff towards him, a sort of large lariat at the end. As it reached his level, Matt gulped and reluctantly released his hold on what was most definitely his most favorite plant in the whole world, bar none, and grabbed it with one arm. He pulled it over his arm and shoulder and head, then hastily grabbed the bush again with his free hand. After a moment to catch his breath, he released the other hand, and settled the rope into place under his arms, pulling the loop taut about him.

"G-got it." He looked up, and could see Joe's encouraging grin above him.

"Good. Let go, now." Joe instructed. "Don't worry, I'll hold you."

Timidly, Matt let go of the plant for good, and felt the rope tighten again as it took his weight. The rope felt much more secure than any silly shrubbery. The best bush in the whole world, most definitely…but still, shrubbery. Not nearly as secure as the rope.

"All set? Okay, just hold on tight, Matt. We'll have you up in just a minute," he heard Joe yell at him.

Matt nodded, and flashed a hasty 'OK' sign, before grabbing the rope tightly with both hands. Again, he heard Joe's voice, but more distantly – not speaking to him.

"Van, stand behind me and take up the slack when I pull the rope – yeah, that's it." Then, more loudly: "Okay, Matt, here we go!"

Matt took a deep breath and shoved down on the ledge, trying to give himself a push – and felt it crumble away beneath his feet. "OHMIGOD! JOE, get me outta here!"

Clinging desperately to the rope cinched tightly about him, scrabbling with his feet to gain the slightest purchase on the cliff face; inch by inch, Matt was pulled up the six or eight feet – he couldn't decide how far it was, and didn't really care anyway – to the top; and after what seemed like an eternity…and ten more eternities…and a frantic effort at the edge, with Joe apparently intent on pulling his arms from their sockets, he found himself lying on the ground in front of his friends, flat out on the wet grass, shaking so hard his teeth rattled in his head.

" _OhGodohGodthankyouthankyouthankyou…"_

"Matt? Are you okay?" It wasn't Joe's voice – it was Vanessa's, sounding extremely anxious. _She's worried…._ Matt managed to roll his head to one side and look up through a tangle of wet hair to offer her a weak smile. _She's got pretty eyes…blue-gray. Very pretty. Sweet-looking. Yeah…very pretty. Good eyes…._ "Matt? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah….Just learning…how to breathe…again," Matt panted. "I'll…be fine." _Oh yeah, just fine, once I stop shaking, which is going to be never, I think…._

Joe was leaning over him now, loosening the rope from about him, and Matt managed a tight grin at the younger Hardy. He shoved himself shakily to his elbows, trying to help remove the rope.

"You were good at that, man," he gasped, willing his breathing to return to normal. "Yeah – you were good at that. Didn't think – I was going to make it, you know? Thought I was going to be – fish bait by now. You know? Thought I'd just go _splat_ all over the rocks, and they'd just find little pieces of me, you know? Couldn't think how anyone was gonna tell Macey, ya know? Or Phil? That I'd fallen off a stupid cliff, and gone total splat….Oh God, Joe…."

He felt Joe's hand fall reassuringly on his shoulder. "Shhh…shhh. It's okay, Matt. Just relax – just breathe. It's okay, pal. You're all right – everything's all right, Matt. Shhh…take it easy." He crouched down beside Matt, wrapping an arm about the shaking man's shoulders.

But Matt couldn't seem to halt the words tumbling from his mouth. Joe and Vanessa exchanged smiles over his head – smiles of amusement and extreme relief – and listened, letting him talk. "I've never been so close to dying, man, ever in my life, and I never want to come that close again. I mean, until I', like 95 or something. Dude, when that rope came down, it was the best thing ever, and the light! I love that light!" He paused, suddenly. "Where did the light come from? I mean, the beacon wasn't—"

It was Cherise who replied. She was standing above Matt, sheltering him with one umbrella and holding the other above her own head, her boot-heels sinking into the muddy ground and the long golden skirt sodden in the wet grass. "I'll explain about the light, Matt—"

"Do it while we get him to the car," Joe commanded brusquely. "Matt, do you think you can walk?"

Matt, who had let his head sink onto his arms again, lifted it slowly. "Not sure, man," he rasped, suddenly aware that he'd screamed his throat nearly raw. "I don't seem to recall having legs, at the moment." He attempted a weak laugh. "I'm pretty sure they're jelly. No – jam. Strawberry jam. I like strawberry jam…it's my favorite." He sighed wearily. "I don't think strawberry jam is gonna hold me up, even if I'm not as tall as you and Vanessa." The words snapped off abruptly as Matt's teeth started chattering again. "What a stupid thing to say….I'm…like…really sorry, guys. I c-can't s-seem to s-s-stop…shaking… and saying...stupid things..."

Joe and Vanessa had laughed at Matt's comment about the strawberry jam, but now exchanged slightly more worried looks. "Come on, let's get you out of the wet," Joe suggested. They helped Matt to his feet, and Joe wrapped his arm securely about his shivering friend. "Hang onto me, Matt."

"M-my…c-c-cameras…." Leaning heavily against Joe, Matt looked around, blankly. "M-my – hat…."

"Vanessa will get them," Joe told him, steering him firmly in the direction of the car. Beside him, Cherise tried to keep them sheltered with one of the umbrellas. "Come on now, you need to get warmed up."

"Warm…yeah, warm is good, man…." Matt tried to match his stumbling footsteps to Joe's. "Cherise – you were going to tell me about…the light?"

"It's often turned on during storms, as a backup to the GPS," the young woman explained, keeping pace with their slow steps. "But even if there hadn't been a storm tonight, Matt – I would have made sure it got turned on. Finding you was definitely a good cause for using it!"

Matt managed an appreciative chuckle, and for a moment he felt his cheeks warm with a blush. He wished he could distribute the heat to the rest of his body!

When they reached the cars, Joe braced Matt against the Aztek while he delved into the trunk for the blankets he kept there. He wrapped Matt in one, and then bundled him into the front passenger seat, and tucked another about him. Matt heaved a deep sigh of relief as Joe shut his door, shutting away the rain – the cold – the wind. The cliff.

Cherise turned to go. "I'll just go and make sure everything's shut down okay, and check in with Mr. Carter, before I leave," she said. "And I'll probably see you here tomorrow. Matt, take it easy – go home and get thawed out! Goodnight!" She hurried away through the rain as Vanessa panted up, carrying Matt's case and his broad-brimmed hat.

"V-vanessa, did you…find my other camera?" Matt asked, worriedly, as the girl placed the case in the back seat and scrambled in after it, hurrying to get out of the wet.

"Other camera? No, I just saw the case. One's in it. I didn't see another one."

"D-darn it," Matt grumbled. "Th-that was an expensive camera! I can't b-believe I lost it! I had it wh-when I f-fell. I'd j-just switched c-cameras….I m-must have d-dropped it when I grabbed onto the plant."

"Better to lose the camera than you," Joe commented sagely, slamming his door shut and inserting the key into the ignition.

"T-true, man." Matt shivered and pulled the blankets closer about himself. "I – I c-can replace it."

Joe started the engine and immediately hit the heat controls, turning them up full blast. "This should help pretty soon, Matt. And I'll have you home as quick as I can."

They drove away from the lighthouse, headlights stabbing through the darkness and the windshield wipers working at top speed. As they departed, Vanessa glanced out her window, then leaned closer to it, peering through the rainy gloom. "That's odd."

"What?" Joe briefly raised his eyes to the rearview mirror.

"There's a car parked there – and it's not that man's who said he had car trouble. Why in the world would someone be sitting there in this weather, watching the lighthouse? Do you suppose something's wrong?"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

 _Thank you, Cherylann, Max2013, and BMSH for your comments!_

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 6

Joe stared thoughtfully at the dark compact car parked alongside the road, studying it with care through the wind-driven rain spattering the windshield. An occasional flash of lightning illuminated the scene as the storm continued unabated.

The car looked to be occupied, all right. The windows were steamy, and although the interior was dark, it looked like at least one person was sitting there. It was most definitely parked where an occupant could watch the lighthouse…but what in the world _for?_

Joe frowned, considering making a quick stop to find out what was going on…and then he glanced over at the passenger seat, where Matt Eckersley huddled silently in his cocoon of blankets, hugging himself and shivering. _Nope, this is one mystery I'll have to let go for now. Matt can't take much more._ As much as Joe would like to have his curiosity satisfied about someone keeping surveillance on Stone Point lighthouse, Matt's needs came first. _He needs to be home in bed, dreaming of Macey – or, barring that, being fussed over by Mom!_ Joe chewed a corner of his lip thoughtfully. He hoped Matt didn't end up having nightmares about his near-brush with death!

"If there's something wrong – car trouble or something – they can contact Mr. Carter at the lighthouse; he's still there, just like that other guy that set off the alarm," Joe said aloud, and signaled his turn onto the road leading to Bayport. "If it's still there tomorrow when we come back, we'll check it out. As it is, I think we'd better get home before your mom or my dad sends out a search party to look for us,"he added, catching Vanessa's eye in the rear-view mirror. "We've been gone a lot longer than we planned."

Vanessa dug into her bag and brought out her cell phone. "I'll call Mom." A few moments later, she spoke again. "Mom? I'll be home in a little while; we just now left Stone Point."

" _Don't even try it, kiddo,"_ Andrea told her daughter. _"The electricity's out here. The storm dropped power lines all over the place; two of them are down in the lane road, and it's completely blocked by utility trucks. Could you stay at the Hardys' tonight, do you suppose?"_

Vanessa relayed the question to Joe, who nodded emphatically. "Mom, I can do that, but are you okay? Are you going to be all right out there by yourself?"

"I'll be fine, sweetie. I fired up the generator, so I've got heat and some lights, and the freezer and fridge are okay. I'm going to listen to the radio, and do some sketching, and use this as a good excuse to go to bed early. You just call me in the morning and we'll worry about you getting home then. Hopefully they'll have the lane unblocked."

Vanessa ended the call, then phoned the Hardy home. "Laura, this is Vanessa. I'm calling to beg a favor – my mom says the power lines are down across the road by my house, so I can't get home. Could I possibly spend the night—"

Evidently the answer was a quick affirmative, for Vanessa chuckled and said "Thanks!" Then she continued, as quietly as she could and still make herself understood: "We're on our way back from the lighthouse now…and, Laura? There was…sort of an…accident. No, no, Joe's all right; he's fine; just wet and muddy. It's Matt – he took a skid down a cliff face. He's not hurt, but he's soaking wet, and pretty shaken up."

" _Sounds like I'd better have something hot ready for him to drink,"_ Laura said. _"And he'll need a warm shower and dry clothes."_

"Yeah, uh-huh, I agree." Vanessa kept her replies brief and vague, trying not to make Matt feel self-conscious about being discussed like this…although Matt didn't seem to be paying any attention to the conversation. "Thanks, Laura. We'll be there in a little while."

Disconnecting, Vanessa leaned forward between the front seats. She smiled at Joe. "There. No one has any reason to worry about us, now." She flinched as lightning flared briefly. "Unless we get struck by lightning, that is."

Joe chuckled and nodded, but glanced again over at Matt, with considerable concern. Matt had been uncharacteristically silent all this time, his arms wrapped tightly around himself; and he was still shivering, even though the ferocious heat blasting out of the vents, combined with their wet clothing, was rapidly turning the Aztek into a sauna on wheels!

 _Wish we could have found him some dry clothes to change into,_ Joe fretted. _He's still soaked through, and if I'm any judge at all, he's in shock._ Joe's own clothes were clammily clinging to him, but although he was damp and uncomfortable, he was feeling okay. _He_ hadn't been scared half to death as Matt had – except for the fear that he wouldn't be able to rescue Matt, that is! _Mom'll know how to take care of him,_ he mused. _Hot soup, hot cocoa, something like that. He can take a warm shower…yeah, she'll know what to do._

As they drove through town, they found pockets of power-outages scattered all along their route home, but the Elm-and-High-Streets neighborhood still had lights comfortingly ablaze. As Joe entered the driveway, he was somewhat surprised to see a familiar blue-green Sunfire parked in front of the house, between Vanessa's Jeep Wrangler and Matt's pickup. _Wonder why Red's here? Well, DUH, Hardy, she's with Frank – but why isn't she safe at home on a nasty night like this?_ He pulled into his customary place next to Frank's Saturn, and quickly ushered Matt and Vanessa in out of the rain, through the back kitchen door.

A cozy scene met their eyes: Frank, Megan and Fenton, sitting at the kitchen table and sipping something from large mugs. Cocoa, perhaps, or hot tea. Steam rose from the cups in lazy tendrils. A platter of chocolate-chip cookies sat in the center of the table. Laura stood at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan.

"There you are!" Practically before the trio was in the door, Frank and Fenton were on their feet and swooping on the unsuspecting Matt, divesting him of the sodden blanket he still clutched about himself, taking his coat and offering dry towels in exchange, urging him to kick off his shoes. Frank tossed a towel in Joe's direction, as well.

"Get Matt dried off a little, and then take him upstairs, Frank, and get him into the shower," Laura directed briskly. "Joe, I suggest you take one too, and put on some dry clothes. Heavens, you're covered with mud, both of you! Vanessa, honey, how wet are you? We're a little short of clothes in your length, unless you borrow sweats from Joe!"

"I'm fine, just mostly my hair and my shoes," Vanessa assured her hostess. "Thanks, Mr. Hardy," she added, accepting a towel from Fenton. She shrugged out of her coat, toed off her shoes, and started to rub the moisture from her hair.

"Come on, you heard Mom. Showers, both of you." Frank firmly marshaled both Matt and Joe ahead of him in the direction of the stairs.

###

Frank followed Matt into the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. "Get those wet clothes off, Matt, and get in there," he said, adding gently, "If you need any help, I'm right here." Frank was watching his friend closely; the normally-bubbly Matt had been completely quiet since he'd walked into the house; he was pale from his ordeal, whatever it had been – and he was still shaking hard. Frank wasn't sure if the tremors were from being chilled, or from fright and shock. _Most likely a combination of both_ , he surmised.

Matt nodded wearily and began to remove his drenched clothing. He managed to strip off his sweatshirt, but the long-sleeved, buttoned shirt beneath stymied him. He fumbled helplessly for a moment before heaving a defeated sigh.

"Frank…man…I – I c-can't get the b-buttons…undone. My f-fingers d-don't want t-to work."

Frank looked at Matt's hands, clenched on his shirt front, and suddenly realized that it wasn't merely cold and nerves that was making it so difficult for the other man. His hands were bruised and abraded, scraped raw in spots; his fingers showed broken nails and scratches, all evidence of Matt's desperate struggle on the cliff. No wonder he couldn't manage the buttons!

Frank smiled reassuringly, and with matter-of-fact briskness helped Matt remove his clothing. "There. Now, in." He held back a corner of the shower curtain and waited while Matt shakily obeyed. As he pulled the curtain closed, Frank saw Matt abruptly sink down, sitting in the tub and letting the water cascade over him, not protesting as the warm, wet spray hit him. "You okay?" Frank asked quickly.

"Um-hmmm." Matt didn't say anything more, but Frank heard him heave a deep sigh.

"I'll take your wet stuff downstairs to be washed, and I'll get you some dry things to put on," Frank told him, mentally adding first-aid ointment and adhesive bandages to the list. "Take as long as you want; there's plenty of hot water. But a word of caution: if you hear the pipes go _thump_ , prepare for a nasty surprise and be ready to act fast and change the water temperature. Joe's going to be taking a shower too, and when he turns on the hot water in our bathroom, it's going to turn it cold in here!" He gathered up Matt's mud-covered clothes and departed, shutting the door quickly behind him.

###

When Matt finally emerged from the shower, he found dry, warm clothes awaiting him; his own underwear and sweats, plus some thick, heavy socks that he didn't recognize, but which were extremely welcome. On the bathroom counter he saw a box of assorted Band-aids and a little tube of first aid cream, plus a hair dryer. Thankfully, he availed himself of all the items.

Frank, who had evidently been listening for the hair dryer to stop, tapped on the bathroom door a few minutes later. "About ready to go down?"

Matt opened the door, and nodded. He followed the elder Hardy down the stairs, and sank into a seat at the dining room table, where a large bowl of steaming soup awaited him. Joe was already there, enthusiastically emptying a similar bowl.

Matt managed a half-smile at them, but still didn't speak. He picked up a spoon and dug in to the soup. Frank realized with a start that he hadn't heard Matt say anything at all, except to ask for help undressing, since he got back from the lighthouse! This was very, very disconcerting!

"Matt – you all right?" Joe had obviously noticed the older man's silence too. He reached to touch Matt's shoulder gently, and smiled at him with a hopeful expression on his face.

"Fine," Matt murmured, eyes downcast, as he took another sip of the soup. "Soup's good."

Frank and Joe exchanged troubled glances, and Frank gave his brother an almost imperceptible shrug, saying with the motion: _Give him some more time!_ Joe, still worried, finished his soup and took his bowl to the kitchen.

Laura swept in, her hands full. She set a large mug of hot chocolate beside Matt's soup bowl, and put a plate of the chocolate-chip cookies in front of him. "Here, Matt, comfort food at its best."

Matt actually managed a real smile this time, when he saw the cookies. "Thanks, Mrs. Hardy." He snagged a cookie and took a bite, then closed his eyes and smiled happily. "Those are the best cookies ever," he mumbled, and took another bite, following it with a sip of hot cocoa. "I think I'm starting to feel better."

"That's because Mom's chocolate-chip cookies could cure the ills of a nation, and bring about world peace at the same time," Frank quipped, taking a couple of cookies of his own.

"I believe it." Matt's grin was a faint shadow of his usual one, but it was a grin, nevertheless. "And Mrs. Hardy, you ought to give your soup recipe to the hospitals, because I'm starting to feel great, the more of it I eat!"

Laura laughed. "No special secret; Campbell's and I do all right together," she chuckled. "Matt – Frank and Megan and Fenton and I have already eaten dinner, and Joe and Vanessa ate while you were taking your shower. Do you feel like having something other than soup?"

Matt considered it a moment, then shook his head. "I think the soup and the cookies will do me just fine." He sighed again, and applied himself to the rest of his soup.

When Matt was done eating, he and Frank joined the others in the family room. Matt was escorted firmly to a loveseat, and Laura plugged in an electric blanket to spread over him.

"Get comfortable here, honey, or if you'd rather go straight to bed, you're more than welcome to do that, too."

"I'll stay here." Matt settled on the small couch, and snuggled the heated blanket about himself. "It's unbelievably nice here…thanks."

Frank had sat down next to Megan on the long couch, holding her hand tightly as they cuddled close together. Matt cocked his head as if noticing Megan's presence for the first time.

"How do you happen to be here, Megan?" he asked, curiously.

"My house lost power too," she explained, smiling. "My mom works for Bayport Electric. She stayed at work to help with dispatching the repair crews, although she usually works in Personnel, not Dispatch, and she might be there all night, depending on the storm. I didn't want to be home alone in the dark and cold, and since Vanessa is staying the night, Laura was kind enough to ask me to stay, too!"

"I wondered why you were here, Red," Joe commented, stretching out his long legs towards the fireplace. "Not that I don't like you here, mind," he added with a chuckle. "I just was noticing that it's sort of turning into a slumber party, here!"

Frank cleared his throat and protectively tucked Megan into the curve of his arm. "I'd like to hear what happened out at the lighthouse, if you three don't mind," he requested, eyeing Joe, Vanessa and Matt inquiringly.

"It all started when we went to the Bayport Historical Society," Vanessa volunteered. "We were talking with Cherise LeGault, from the Society, when they got a message that the Stone Point lighthouse had been broken into – well, at least, that the alarm was going off out there."

"So Cherise said we could go along," Joe took up the story. "We stopped on the way and picked up Matt, so he could get started taking pictures. Cherise showed us around the lighthouse and the keeper's cottage, just a little, and gave us keys so that we can go back on our own. It turned out that the alarm had been set off by a guy with car trouble who tried to get into the lighthouse to get out of the rain." He slowed, and added, reluctantly, "And then Matt went outside to take some more pictures, while Vanessa and I talked with Cherise."

Matt stirred in his nest of warm blanket. "Guess that's my cue, huh?" he said. His voice still sounded a little raspy, but was slowly returning to normal. "I wandered around outside, trying to get shots in the rain. I took off my hat, because it was in my way, and I was backing away from the lighthouse, looking in the viewfinder of the camera…when all of a sudden, there wasn't any more ground!"

Megan caught her breath, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Oh, Matt…" she whispered.

Matt gave her a rueful, smiling glance. "Yeah, big-time panic. I slid and grabbed and slid some more…and then I managed to hang onto a little bush – I don't know what it was, but it was obviously the best plant in the whole wide world, because it didn't break off when I hung on it!"

"For which we're all very grateful," Frank observed quietly.

Matt blushed slightly. "I don't think I said 'thanks' often enough, Joe and Vanessa, for saving me – and for, like, keeping me from going completely bonkers…'cause, you know, I was seriously about to totally lose it out there, ya know?" He gazed at them, his hazel eyes wide and sober. "I thought I was gonna die, you know…I'm really, really glad I didn't – but I was pretty sure I was going to." He shuddered. "Splat…on the rocks…" he whispered.

Joe leaned forward, blue eyes intent. "Matt, my friend, there was no way I was going to lose you over any cliff! I'd have climbed down there after you if I'd had to, you know. You were NOT going to go splat on the rocks. I'm just sorry you ended up losing that camera!"

Matt blinked for a moment, and bit his lip, then summoned a smile. "It's bad, yeah, but I had it insured; all my equipment is. I gotta call my agent, I guess. Tomorrow, though. Not tonight." Matt blinked again, and looked around the room as if he'd suddenly noticed something. "Wasn't your dad around earlier?"

"He got a call," Joe replied. "While you were in the shower. One of those 'hurry up and pack a bag and get out the front door; it's a biggie,' types."

"Huh?" Matt's eyes went round. "You mean, he just LEFT, just like that? Because someone called him for a case?"

"Yep," Joe nodded. "we're pretty used to him leaving at the drop of a hat."

"Whoa, dude….that is like soooooo cool!" For the first time in hours, Matt's face once more contained animation and sparkle. "It's like living with James Bond, or something!"

Frank and Joe burst into laughter. "James Bond? Well, I'd never thought of it exactly like that!" Joe spluttered. "Dad doesn't drive an Aston-Martin, and he rarely drinks martinis…."

"I don't know," Megan disagreed softly, "I think he'd make a really great James Bond!"

Frank tilted his head to one side and eyed her smilingly. "Dad's too domesticated to be James Bond."

Not long afterwards, Matt yawned hugely. "Dudes, I'm like, really, really tired," he murmured. "I'm like falling asleep right here."

"I think it's bedtime for you, Matt," Laura said gently, from the doorway. "But we've got some juggling to do, with the girls staying here tonight."

"I can sleep on the couch—" Megan began.

"You can have my room," Joe said at the same moment, to Vanessa.

Laura shushed them both and continued addressing Matt. "Matt, I really hate to do this to you, but your room has the double bed. Do you suppose you could sleep in Frank's room tonight, and let Vanessa and Megan use the guest room?"

Matt nodded sleepily. "Sure thing, no prob."

"I get the floor and a sleeping bag, then," Frank surmised.

"Why not the couch?" his mother queried. "Unless you'd rather sleep on the floor, of course!" She beckoned to Megan and Vanessa. "Come along, girls, let's find you something you can sleep in. Megan, you brought your things, but Vanessa's another story."

Frank eyed the drowsy Matt, as Laura, Megan and Vanessa departed. "Matt? Would you rather have me in there, or the room to yourself?"

"Doesn't…matter, dude." Matt unsuccessfully tried to stifle another massive yawn.

"In that case, I'll take the couch," Frank decided. He grinned teasingly at Joe. "I know why you're getting to stay in your own room; it's because you've got to play tomorrow!"

"There are some advantages to being on that football team, at least," Joe commented wryly. He glanced at the windows as they rattled in a fierce onslaught of wind and rain. "Still a really nasty night! I hope it clears by tomorrow!"

"Jack called before you got home; he's canceling tomorrow morning's flights. He didn't want to risk the planes or the cargo," Frank said, following his brother's glance. "Luckily it wasn't anything that can't wait an extra day. I'm just as glad; I wasn't looking forward to it!" He got to his feet. "Come on, Matt, let's get your stuff before the girls take over your room."

Matt and Joe followed him from the room. Thirty minutes later, peace settled on the Hardy household.

#####

"Well, at least the sun is still shining!" Vanessa turned in the front passenger seat of Joe's car and smiled at the half-dozing Matt, who was sitting in the back seat, bundled warmly against the chilly late-afternoon air.

Matt had had quite a morning, Vanessa knew. He'd been thoroughly fussed over by Laura and Megan and herself, and hovered over by Frank, too! Joe had had to leave for his game earlier than Matt was awake, but Vanessa was positive that had he been home, Joe would have joined the rest of them in coddling Matt Eckersley – coddling which reduced Matt to mumbling embarrassment at the extra attention lavished on him!

He had called Phil Cohen, in New York, to tell him about the incident, and to ask him to locate the insurance information on his cameras. Phil had done his share of fussing too, demanding to be reassured that Matt was essentially unharmed, before he fulfilled the request for the insurance information.

Vanessa had been a little surprised that Matt had insurance on his camera equipment, and she knew she wasn't the only one. Matt seemed so flighty…but when it came to his profession, the guy suddenly lost all that air-headedness!

"Those cameras cost me major bucks, dude!" he'd said, laughing. "Man, it would be like totally stupid to not get them insured!" He'd been on the phone for almost an hour that morning, taking care of things – but at the end of it, he'd smiled broadly, and announced that it sounded like everything would be cool.

###

They had all gone to watch Joe's football game, delighting in the blue skies and sun which had replaced the violent storm of the night before. Frank admitted that it would have been entirely possible to fly cargo runs, but since Jack had canceled them…oh well! It was chilly, but enjoyable, and although the Titans had lost the game, it was close. Joe hadn't been all that unhappy with the outcome; his disposition remained sunny, thank heavens! Vanessa smiled to herself. And now they were on their way back to Stone Point.

"You know, I was thinkin'…." Matt spoke up as Joe steered the car down the small paved road that led to the lighthouse.

"Oh boy, we're in trouble now! Vanessa babe, open the windows and let out the steam!" Joe jibed, smiling teasingly into the rearview mirror at Matt, who responded with a quick gesture and a grin of his own.

"Ha-double-ha-ha. Man, I'm serious, here. I was just thinking how cool it would be to find a boat and, you know, like, take pictures inland toward the lighthouse. I've never done shots of one from the water."

"Cool is right, Matt," Joe said, grimacing with distaste. "It's freezing out on the water in November, you know!"

"Oh. Okay." Matt shrugged, and immediately dropped the subject. Vanessa saw him turn his attention out of the window.

"Joe…." she spoke slowly, "We could, maybe, if we all bundled up really warm – and brought hot stuff to drink in thermoses. The temperature would only be in the 40's and 50's. An hour wouldn't do any harm."

"Maybe." Joe was dubious, and Vanessa knew it. But he had seen Matt's reaction too. "Well, we could maybe take the _Sleuth_ ….I'd have to talk to Frank about it; we haven't used it since…hmmm, maybe July? Before Tahoe, anyway. We'd have to see—"

"You have a boat?" Matt interrupted, going from sleepy and disappointed to excited in about one second flat. "You have a boat?"

"Yeah, Eckersley, we have a boat." Joe grinned at Matt's enthusiasm. "A speedboat. We got it when I was…fourteen? Something like that. We used to use it all the time, but it's taken some beatings and bashings, and it's been sabotaged more than once – so it's a bit the worse for wear, which is why we don't use it very much. But, maybe—"

"This is so cool! You have a boat! Dude, this is like too freakin' cool! You think Frank will agree to go out? This would be, like, so cool! I could take a bunch of really cool pictures! You have to let us, man! We like have to do this! I haven't been out in a boat since I left California! I mean, I did a couple of shoots on board one, but it was tied to a dock, and I haven't been out actually on water and moving!"

Joe laughed and exchanged an amused look with Vanessa. "I'll talk to Frank about it, but Matt, even if we do go, it'll only be for an hour or so. It's a lot colder on the water than on land. This isn't California, remember? And we'll have to check the _Sleuth_ over, and make sure there are enough life vests and things…." he continued, obviously thinking out loud, now.

He parked the car, and they all got out. Frank's Saturn pulled in behind them, and Frank got out, then went around to open Megan's door. Vanessa cocked an eyebrow in Joe's direction when she noticed that – she'd had to exit the Aztek on her own – but he seemed oblivious to her thoughts, and she finally laughed, shook her head a little, and kissed him. Joe seemed surprised, but pleased.

As they walked toward the lighthouse, Joe filled Frank in on their idea – or rather, Matt's idea. Frank shook his head doubtfully, but he finally agreed that it might be do-able.

"We'll need to look the _Sleuth_ over first," he warned. "It's been awhile since we've taken her out."

"I know – we know," Joe nodded. He chuckled as Matt gave a whoop of delight.

"Totally cool, dudes!"

Vanessa typed in the pass code to allow them to enter the lighthouse, which she had carefully copied into her notebook, then unlocked the door. Although they would be getting research data from Cherise, when she got there, Joe wanted to take his own measurements…just to see if the lens was really as tall as the brochures said. Besides, it was more fun to _do_ research than just read about it in a pamphlet!

Joe stood back and watched, smiling, as Megan and Frank climbed the circular staircase. _They both look fully recovered, finally – much, much better than they did a month ago!_ Frank was holding Megan's hand tightly clasped in his, leading her up the stairs, and Joe saw him smile as he bent down to hear something Megan murmured in his ear. Joe smiled again, with a touch of envy. _Frank always looks so calm – how does he do it? I've always envied that trait!_

Once they were all in the lens room, Matt set down his large camera case, opened it, and removed a camera. He checked it over, attached a lens, and then smiled in satisfaction and started shooting pictures. Multiple pictures. Pictures of everything…including the two couples!

Joe pulled out a large, fabric tape measure and handed one end to Vanessa. He grinned at Matt's soft "Cool!" and accompanying camera-click, and stepped off to measure the width. Discovering the step-ladder set to one side, Joe climbed up and he and Vanessa measured and recorded the height of the huge lens.

Frank and Megan, unneeded at the moment, wandered outside to the catwalk encircling the lens room. Frank stood behind his girlfriend, and wrapped his arms about her, holding her close and secure as the wind rushed past them. He dropped a soft kiss somewhere in the vicinity of her ear, as they looked over the view, then stopped and frowned. Releasing Megan, Frank poked his head back into the lens room.

"Matt? Do you have a telephoto lens?"

Matt looked up and nodded. "Sure, dude, of course."

"Can I borrow it?" Frank requested.

"What is it?" Megan asked, curiously.

"Not sure yet, baby," Frank answered, "but I'll let you know in a minute."

Matt handed him a camera with a long lens attached. Balancing it carefully, Frank peered through the viewfinder until he saw what he wanted to see. He carefully shot a picture, then a second, and a third, before he turned back to Megan.

"What is it, dude?" Matt had joined them out on the catwalk, although he was extremely careful to stay pressed tightly against the glass wall of the lens room, seemingly reluctant to get anywhere near the railing.

"There's a boat out there," Frank replied. "A sailboat. See?" He pointed out over the water. "Someone on the boat was watching the lighthouse with binoculars. When he saw me taking pictures of it, he started pulling up anchor and setting sails."

"That's weird." Vanessa and Joe had joined the others on the catwalk now, all of them staring at the rapidly-departing sailboat. "There was someone in a car watching the lighthouse yesterday. A guy was sitting in his car in that rainstorm…and then there was the guy who tried to get in, of course. The one who said he had car trouble." Vanessa looked thoughtful.

Frank frowned, and motioned for everyone to go back inside.

"I think we'd better let Miss LeGault know what we've seen." Frank looked at Joe, who nodded. "Someone may be planning to break into - or sabotage - the lighthouse."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH and Max2013 for your comments. They are much appreciated.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 7

"You don't think you're like being a little paranoid, do you, Frank dude?" Matt's voice was slightly nervous as he watched Frank lift the camera once more.

Frank didn't reply immediately. He tracked the rapidly-diminishing sailboat until it disappeared from view. "I wonder just what that guy was up to!" he muttered. He handed the heavy camera back to Matt, who carefully stored it in his case.

"Maybe," Frank admitted at last, with a sigh. "I admit, it could have been a couple of people who were out for a pleasure sail, just taking in the sights – and I suppose the fact that there were a bunch of people trooping around on top of the lighthouse would be interesting – but really, it's not pleasure-cruise weather! We're liable to get another storm soon – they've been blowing in off the Atlantic like crazy – and it's damned cold out on the water!"

He looked around at the others, and could see he'd made his point. They were all thinking hard now, considering the possibilities he'd raised. He stared at the several-tons Fresnel lens, worth so much. _How could anyone manage to steal something so immense? And if anyone did manage to steal it, how could they get rid of it? If they auctioned it off, or whatever, it would be recognized immediately!_

 _Unless, of course, it was for a private buyer…._ Frank watched the overhead light shimmering in the glass lens. He could see multiple reflections of himself in the lens – multiple reflections of the others, too.

"Frank?" Megan touched his arm.

He turned to her, smiling, and lifted a hand to her cheek. "I'm back with you, baby."

She laughed softly. "You feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm great! Just thinking about the lens, is all."

"What about it?" Joe asked.

Frank told them, ending by saying "We won't worry about it until – unless – we get more indications that someone is actually after it!"

"It doesn't necessarily have to be the lens," a new voice startled them. Frank whirled, breathless with surprise, and saw a young woman with dark eyes and hair, standing on the stairs and watching them. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the woman continued, seeing Frank's expression. "I'm Cherise LeGault, and you must be Joe's brother." She ascended the last few steps and entered the lens room.

"Y-yeah…" Frank regained his composure. "I'm Frank Hardy, and this is Megan Wright," he said. Cherise nodded cordially to them, and exchanged greetings with Matt, Joe, and Vanessa.

"What did you mean, it doesn't have to be the lens?" Joe demanded.

"Ah, there's a story – a legend," Cherise told him, smiling. "Do you want to hear it?"

A chorus of "yeses" answered her immediately. Cherise smiled again, and plopped herself onto the floor. She patted it invitingly, and the others followed suit.

"Several decades ago – nearly a century," she began, "somewhere between 1910 and 1920 – a ship was wrecked on the shore near Stone Point. The keeper of the light at that time, a man named Johannsen, went to check for survivors. He found the wreck, but when he boarded it, it was empty – no one aboard, and no dead bodies, either. He thought perhaps the sailors had all been swept overboard, either during the wreck, or prior, during a storm, so he returned to the keeper's cottage, intending to notify the Coast Guard." She paused briefly.

Matt's eyes were glowing with fascinated intensity as he listened to Cherise's expressive tones. Megan, sitting cross-legged with her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists, snuggled a little closer to Frank, who slid an arm about her. Vanessa and Joe exchanged delighted looks, then returned their gazes to Cherise, listening intently to her tale.

"When Johannsen got to his cottage, he went to the small room where the telegraph equipment was kept. He was about to send the telegram notifying the Coast Guard, when he was startled to hear a noise in the house! Since he lived alone, this was alarming, so of course he went to investigate. To his surprise, he found a strange man lurching down the hallway, a man who was evidently quite ill, apparently feverish, and appeared to be on the verge of collapse. He fell at Johannsen's feet, unconscious.

"The keeper tried to help the unfortunate man. He put him to bed and cared for him as best he could, but it seemed that nothing he did helped much. As the stranger's condition worsened, he became delirious, and babbled and rambled in his fever. He talked of a great wave of monstrous proportions, and he kept asking for someone…someone named Pierre." Cherise's expressive voice kept her listeners enthralled; it was all they could do not to demand that she speak faster, each time she paused for breath.

"At last, the dying man said something that caught Johannsen's ear and attention. He moaned and said '…the treasure. The treasure is cursed! Do not touch the treasure….Evil!' And then, quite suddenly, he died."

The Hardys, the girls, and Matt sat there, open-mouthed.

"H-holy cow…." Joe breathed, at last. "I never heard that legend before!"

"What happened then?" Megan demanded. "What happened after the man died? What happened to the lighthouse keeper, and what about the wreck?" She was clutching Frank's hand tightly, as if waiting to hear current news; as if the events were happening now, instead of years before. He didn't attempt to loosen her grip.

"Johannsen did contact the authorities," Cherise continued, "and they came out to take charge of the body, and to search the wreck. However, Johannsen did not mention the treasure to anyone. It was his secret. If there was a treasure, he intended to find it and keep it for himself.

"To his surprise, he found it in a short time. The stranger had hidden it in the keeper's cottage – in one of the fireplaces in a bedroom, behind a stone. There were jewels, many precious gems, some loose and some in settings. A king's ransom in jewels, perhaps. But shortly after Johannsen found the treasure – perhaps a week or two after the sailor died – he became ill. He insisted in his notes that it was, indeed, a curse – the curse of the jewels, of which the sailor had spoken! Before he became too ill, Johannsen hid the gems, determined that no one should ever find them again. Only then did he mention them in his journal, not saying where he put them, only that they must be hidden away where they could do no more harm.

"It didn't help him, though; apparently the damage had been done. And shortly thereafter, Johannsen died, as well. And no one has ever found the hidden treasure, although many have looked. It has been surmised that Johannsen must have thrown the treasure into the ocean; the tide caught it and swept the jewels out to sea, to be forever lost." Cherise let her voice die away into a quiet murmur as she ended the story.

Joe swallowed nervously, shaking his head to come out of the reverie that he had fallen into, listening to the story. Cherise LeGault was one heck of a storyteller, you felt like you were living the story yourself, when you listened to her! Joe looked around at the others, who were blinking themselves, mesmerized, thinking….

Frank broke the silence. "Did anyone ever know where the treasure came from?"

Cherise shrugged, unsure. "It's believed that they originally came from France; that the sailors had stolen the gems, and then sailed to America, to start a new life. There were rumors of a fabulous collection of jewels which had disappeared some time before. But since no one was ever able to find the jewels, no one could ever actually determine whether or not they were the missing ones."

Joe swallowed again, and wrapped his arm about Vanessa's shoulders tightly. "How come I've never heard that legend before?" he asked.

Cherise smiled. "It's a fairly new legend, as legends go," she replied. "You see, Johannsen's journals and logs disappeared, just before he died. He wrote everything down, and then hid them. It was as if he wanted to clear his conscience, but yet he didn't want anyone else to find out about the treasure, be overcome with greed, as he was, and suffer the consequences of the cursed jewels. The diaries were found – in the place where Johannsen said he found the jewels – only last year! None of the newspapers have been very interested in an old legend when the jewels themselves have never been found – but the story was published in a historical quarterly."

"We have got to use the story in our report!" Vanessa breathed. "Cherise, can we get a copy of the magazine it was published in?"

"Of course, if you would like it," Cherise nodded affirmatively. "We had to carefully copy and catalogue everything, when the journals were discovered, to save the story. The paper was nearly in tatters, crumbling away. It took specialists to get everything recorded properly."

Joe frowned, obviously thinking things through as he spoke. "So if the story was published in a magazine, then that's how the people who are watching the lighthouse found out about it…if that's what they're after…if there really is anyone after anything…."

Cherise nodded thoughtfully. "It's certainly possible."

"Are people still looking for the treasure, you think?" Frank wanted to know. "After the journals came to light, did people come here to look for it?"

Cherise laughed and blushed a little. "Well, I have to admit, we searched all the nooks and crannies we could find! And a few others came and looked. But nothing turned up. I really do think Johannsen threw them into the sea; otherwise someone would have found them before now. And that's all I know about the jewels, honest!"

"Do you think they were cursed?" Megan's azure gaze locked on Cherise. "Why did Johannsen die, if they weren't?"

"The public story was that he had caught something from the sailor – although you'd think anything that lethal would have spread through Bayport like wildfire, wouldn't you? But so far as I know, no one else sickened and died."

"Could we see where the jewels were found?" Frank asked. "Was it bricked up again, or just left open?"

"Why in the world would you want to see an old hole in a fireplace wall?" Cherise asked in return, laughing. "And no, it wasn't bricked up again."

Frank shrugged. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"Well, no reason not to. Everyone coming?" Cherise looked at the others.

"We don't all need to go traipsing over there," Vanessa demurred. "Joe and I can finish doing our measurements. Joe…" she added in a whisper, "we can calculate the wattage ourselves, you know…."

Joe groaned. "Math is evil!" he muttered, to no one in particular.

Matt also turned down the invitation. "I'm gonna walk up the lane and take some distance shots," he announced.

Joe grinned. "Watch out for crumbling ledges," he said, and ducked as Matt swatted at the back of his head.

Hand-in-hand, Megan and Frank followed Cherise to the lightkeeper's cottage, to see the mysterious hole in the wall. Frank felt Megan's curious glance fall on him a time or two as they walked. He knew she was wondering just why he was so avid to see the hidey-hole, but she was a good enough sport to go along with him, and not ask questions. He appreciated that – he wasn't sure he could have answered them!

Cherise led them through the house to a back bedroom on the ground floor. They saw that this part of the house didn't have a second story, and he wondered if it had possibly been added on after the original house was built. The upper story only covered about half the house. In the bedroom, the fireplace was built against the very back wall of the house.

"Well, there it is." Cherise gestured at the fireplace, showing Megan and Frank the hole. Frank knelt down, curiously putting his hand into the cavity and feeling around tentatively.

"It's a lot bigger back there than I thought it would be," he commented. "It feels like…" He felt further, exploring the area. "It feels like there's a good foot of space between the back wall of the fireplace and the outside wall of the house! Is that normal, Cherise?"

"I really don't know," Cherise admitted, shrugging. "I know a lot of historical facts, but that's not one of them!"

Megan dropped to her knees beside Frank. "Let me…" she requested.

Frank removed his hand, and Megan put hers in. Her smaller hand and arm moved easily into the depths of the hiding place. For a moment she smiled as she explored it, and then she froze…and blinked…and abruptly pulled her hand out. The color drained from her face.

"Baby? What's wrong?"

Megan was scooting back from the fireplace now, a startled look on her face. "I thought I f-felt…F-Frank, you better look for yourself. Feel down to the left…."

Frank obeyed, mystified. Megan shuddered, and Cherise stared at them in wonderment.

"What the…?" Frank's eyes widened, and he withdrew his hand, holding something. The something which Megan had found.

The bony remains of a human arm.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and BMSH for the welcomed feedback.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 8

Megan stared down at the arm bone that Frank had pulled from the wall, her mouth hanging open in shocked disbelief. She had really, _really_ hoped that what she'd felt would turn out to be a stick, or something on that order, _not_ the remains of what was obviously a human body! Gulping, she covered her mouth with one hand and took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, still staring.

Frank, gazing at the artifact with all the concentrated interest of a forensic scientist, knelt there on the fireplace hearth, touching the bone gingerly. "I wonder who…" Recalling himself to the situation, he looked up at Megan, and quickly set the bone down.

"You okay, Baby?" Frank got to his feet, closing the short distance between them. He wrapped his arm gently about her shoulders and held her securely against him. He could feel tremors shaking her. "It's all right, Megan – you're all right. Nothing to worry about, here…."

"I'm okay." It took a gulp or two, and another deep breath; then Megan was under control again. "It just spooked me for a minute; that's all. Why is there a – a body – behind the fireplace?"

"Good question!" Frank shook his head, shrugging his shoulders in puzzlement. "I have no idea. I sure didn't expect to find something like this when I asked to see the hidey-hole; I was just interested. It seems like a good place to stash a treasure, if someone wanted to." He looked around and spotted Cherise, standing near the entrance to the room; her eyes showing up dark and enormous against the pallor of her face.

"Cherise? You okay?" Frank had to wait a few seconds before she responded with a slight nod. "Why don't you and Megan go on out of here," he proposed. "Find Joe and Vanessa and Matt, and tell them what we've found. I'm going to take a few minutes to investigate this cache a little further, and see what else might be in there."

"O-okay." Cherise nodded tightly. Megan, still glued to Frank's side, looked relieved at this suggestion.

"I'm going to have to call the police," Frank continued gently. "There's no way of knowing how old the bone – bones, let's assume there's a whole skeleton in there – how old it is. It might have been put here a few years ago, not decades!"

Cherise didn't look comforted by this possibility. The thought of murder connected with her favorite place was obviously an unwelcome one, something like desecrating a shrine!

Frank looked down at Megan with an encouraging smile. He gently kissed her cheek, and hugged her close. "Baby? Could you send Joe in, please? He and I can secure the scene while we wait for the police." He shook her a little. "Got to put all those things we're learning in school to good use, don't we?!"

Aqua eyes stared up at him a moment, troubled – and then Megan smiled wanly and nodded agreement. "Right. It's a class field trip. Wouldn't our professors be impressed with our practical experience, huh? Better you than me, this time around. Come on, Cherise," she added, beckoning to the other young woman, who followed her willingly out of the room.

Frank took out his cell phone and stood gazing out of the bedroom window as he dialed. He could see Matt walking along the pathway away from the lighthouse, occasionally pausing to snap a photo.

Once connected to the Bayport Police Department, he asked to speak to Con Riley, hoping against hope that the police detective was currently on duty.

" _Frank? What's up?"_

Frank explained briefly, and then waited for the expected reaction. It wasn't long in coming. The incredulity in Con's voice resonated through the connection.

" _Let me get this straight…you're at the Stone Point lighthouse researching a college paper, and you find human bones? How the_ _heck_ _do you manage to find a body while doing a_ _paper_ _, for cat's sake?"_

Frank laughed, somewhat sheepishly. "I have no idea, Con. I was just checking out a legend, not hunting for bodies. Not hunting for anything more mysterious than missing jewels! It's not even my paper, it's Joe's. And besides," he went on virtuously, "it wasn't me that found it, it was Megan!"

Con sighed. _"You guys give me a headache. Okay, hang tight. I'll send a team out right away. No, I'll_ _bring_ _a team. Don't do anything else with the remains, right?"_

"You got it," Frank agreed, and ended the call.

Despite his promise to Con, after Frank had put away his phone he knelt down once again, inspecting the flooring in front of the opening in the back wall. It was scratched and broken up directly in front of the hole, and Frank noted that the mortar looked different in the front of the fireplace – different from the part in the back, closest to the hole…the color just a shade or two off, the texture not quite the same.

Leaning close, Frank peered into the darkness of the hole, then reached into his coat pocket for the Maglite flash he kept there. Shining the light into the cavity, he inspected the back part of the mortar between the bricks minutely. _Different…._ He couldn't say for sure which part might be older, but the difference was there, and definitely noticeable. The mortar in the back was thicker than that of the fireplace addition in the front. _The forensics team from the police department will be able to tell…._

"What'd you find, Frank?"

Frank jumped, nearly banging his head on the top of the fireplace opening, as he heard Joe's voice behind him. "Sheesh, give me a heart attack, why don't you?" He crawled out of the fireplace pit and sat cross-legged on the floor. "This." He gestured towards the bone lying beside him. "Megan found it first, and I pulled it out of that hole in the wall. Looks human, and I suspect there's more where that came from…probably a whole skeleton."

Joe made a face, looking slightly queasy. "Lovely."

"I was looking at the mortar in the fireplace," Frank continued. "I'm positive the fireplace wasn't part of the original house. Or if there was a fireplace originally, it was pulled down and replaced with this one."

Joe frowned, looking around at the room with keen blue eyes. "There isn't a second floor above this room. It's very possible that whoever built the fireplace added it after the house was built."

Frank nodded, as Joe's words confirmed his own feelings.

"Do you think the fireplace was added to hide the body?" Joe asked then.

"I think so…" Frank said slowly. "I'm not positive, of course, and there's not nearly enough evidence – but yeah. I think so."

Joe dropped to his knees and extended a hand for Frank's flashlight. He stuck the light into the hole and then followed with his head, grimacing with distaste as loosened mortar and brick dust crumbled into his blonde hair. "Ick…." He brushed at the dust and small bits of brick with his free hand. "Can't see anything from this angle…." He scrambled back and got to his feet, returning the light to his brother. "What should we do next?"

"I already called Con; he's sending an investigative team out," Frank replied. "They should be here pretty soon. Where are the girls?"

"They're staying outside," Joe reported. "Neither Megan nor Cherise seemed at all interested in coming back in here, and Vanessa decided she didn't really want to, either."

"Just as well," Frank nodded approval. "The less people in here in the way, the better."

He turned again to the mysterious hole in the back of the fireplace wall. There was just something about it…something that was drawing him irresistibly. Something that made him want to know more. _It's just your curiosity, Hardy_ , he told himself _– your inability to leave anything unexplained alone._ But there it was…there was something….The wall – or something inside that wall – wanted him to know more…to do something more….

Frank swallowed nervously, making sure his back was turned to Joe to hide this action from his younger brother. He flicked on the Maglite, and crawled into the fireplace once again. He ducked his head into the opening, holding the light nearly beneath his chin to get both head and light into the aperture. He could see something – something shining, far back….Ignoring Con's explicit instructions to leave things untouched – _he just said to leave the remains alone! I'm not doing anything with the bones!_ he told himself – Frank pulled his head back and extended his arm in, reaching for the mysterious shining thing. He snagged it with the end of his light, and pulled it out.

"Whatcha got?" Joe was watching him with evident interest.

Carefully, Frank took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to pick up the new find. He held it up for inspection. "It's a coin of some sort – with a chain attached." He shone the flash on it, and his keen eyes picked out the value, and a date stamp. "1867!" He whistled, and held it towards Joe. "This has been here for a while! I'd have to look it up – or talk to Mr. Applegate about it – but I think it's an old nickel of some kind. A five-cent piece, I mean; it's not made of nickel."

"Might be a clue to the identity of the body," Joe observed, frowning over the coin but not attempting to touch it.

Frank nodded and pulled it back, staring at it abstractedly as he held it up in the light. It was penny-colored; coppery rather than silvery, and a bit bigger than a modern penny. Frank had never seen a coin like it before, and he was intrigued.

"I'm going to go out and check on the girls, and wait for the police," Joe stated, rising to his feet. "Hang on to your little souvenir, bro – although I can tell you right now, Con's not going to be at all happy about you digging around in there!"

Frank shrugged. "Yeah, well…I felt like I had to pick it up."

Joe blinked. "Had to pick it up? Why do you think you had to pick it up?"

"Dunno…." Frank frowned and shook his head, then shrugged again. "Maybe I'm just going loopy."

"In that case," Joe cracked, grinning, "you're admitting it about twenty years too late; you were born loopy!"

Frank's dark eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint sparking. "Oh, you're just begging to be thwapped," he breathed, and took a step towards his younger brother, hand raised in mock threat.

"Hah, like you think you could!" Joe dodged aside and hastily departed, his laughter trailing back.

Left alone, Frank held up the coin again, staring at it in fascination. _1867._ He didn't know what it might mean, but he was very hopeful that it might prove to be a solid clue in this mystery of the skeletal remains. _Maybe someone disappeared back then; someone who was connected to this coin…of course, coins are around forever. It could have happened much later…._

Suddenly, a cold wind blasted through the room, causing Frank to shiver even though he was wearing a heavy jacket. _Brrrr!_ He brushed back his dark hair as another gust of cold wind blew past him, then looked up…and blinked.

A girl stood across the room from him – staring at him with angry, baleful eyes, her expression filled with hate. A slender girl, dressed in an old-fashioned dress with a long skirt and a tight bodice. Her pale hair swirled around her, flowing past her shoulders in a straight fall to her waist. Her clothing appeared filmy, although he could see details. As Frank stared, she reached out a hand in his direction, pointing a slender finger accusingly at him.

He froze in place, unable to move, and heard a soft word echo past him, uttered in a cold, feminine voice:

" _Murderer…!"_


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH, and Max2013!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 9

Frank shivered, staring at the girl. Where had she come from? Why hadn't he heard her approach? And why had she said…? He reached towards her, trying to deny the accusation, even as another hate-filled whisper floated past his ears.

" _Murderer!"_

She glided toward him, pale hair gleaming in the soft light of the room, her eyes filled with such intense hatred that for an irrational moment, Frank wondered if she intended to kill him!

 _Who is she? Where did she come from? How did she get here? Why did she think I killed whoever that was? No way! How could she think that? I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it! I'll swear it – to anyone!_

"No," he whispered, "I didn't—"

" _MURDERER!"_ the girl insisted. She was no longer moving towards him, but was standing and watching him with large, doe-like, brown eyes. Tawny-amber eyes, not dark brown like Frank's.

 _Pretty…old-fashioned looking…._ Frank wasn't quite sure what to think of her. She was more than vaguely threatening…. What might she do if he moved towards her…? That is, if he _could_ move! His feet seemed to have grown roots. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force himself to move; it was as if he'd stepped into fast-setting concrete! He attempted to swallow, and found his mouth and throat aridly dry. He admitted it for the first time: he was scared. Terrified, in fact. _Why am I so scared of her? What's she going to do to me?_

She moved then, abruptly, lunging towards him with her hands outstretched, her fingers curled into claws, her tawny eyes still ablaze with loathing. She clutched at him, reaching to pull him towards her, to drag him down – but her hands slid through him….

 _Her hands slid through him…._

 _Oh God…I'm going crazy. I'm going insane. She…she touched me. I know she touched me. Her hands_ _didn't_ _go through me. I know they didn't. They didn't._

The strange girl stared at him, halting in shock and surprise. She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. She reached for him again, this time brushing her hands against him, pushing him back, pushing him until he was right up against the fireplace. She could push him, then, even if she seemed unable to grasp him – Frank felt the same cold wind blowing through the room, and the wind seemed to be what pushed him backward – but he knew – he was convinced….no, he was _trying_ to convince himself…that it was this girl who had pushed him. Because if it wasn't the girl, then this whole scene was totally impossible.

He couldn't face the impossible. Didn't want to face the impossible….Refused to face the impossible. Refused…refused.

" _Murderer…"_ the girl whispered again, and he felt her breath. He was sure it was her breath, not the cold wind – even though her breath was as cold as the wind sweeping through the chamber _. "Murderer."_ She was advancing on him again, close…closer, her hands extended in his direction….

Invisible hands wrapped around his throat, cold, cold hands, icy hands which stopped his ability to breathe….

Frank froze in place, held immobile by the icy touch of those unseen hands, shivering, trying to make sense of what was happening _. Did I pass out and fall and hit my head, or something? I'm dreaming…hallucinating!_

That had to be it – had to be the only logical explanation for this incredible thing. He could not, _would not_ , accept anything else. Would not accept that this girl…that she wasn't alive. A ghost. She was a ghost…and she was going to KILL HIM!

He started to struggle then, trying to break free of her icy grip, trying to push her away, to get past her, fighting the cold wind that hammered into him and past him and through him. He opened his mouth to scream, to beg….

"Frank?"

Frank jerked his head up, features stark with shock as he stared into the face of his younger brother.

Joe was gazing at him with concern. Frank felt a warm hand on his shoulder, felt Joe shaking him lightly. He stared at Joe, and realized that Joe had shaken him before. _Was that what I felt when I thought the girl…the ghost…thought IT…was trying to strangle me?_

"Joe," he whispered. The sound came out as more of a croak than a true ability to speak. He gripped Joe's arm tightly, grateful for the solid muscle beneath his fingers. He closed his eyes, trying not to dwell too long on what had just happened. Joe would think he was losing his mind, if he told him what had just occurred. Yet, he could still feel the wind….

He was _freezing_ , Frank realized. _Maybe I'm coming down with something. Viruses are going around like crazy; maybe I just picked something up…._ "Are you cold?" he asked shakily, still clinging to Joe's arm. "It's cold in here – I'm freezing, all of a sudden. It feels like someone opened a window, and there's an ice storm outside, or something…."

Joe, frowning, led him away from the fireplace, to a chair across the room. "Sit down," he advised. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Frank stared at him with pure shock and panic in his brown eyes. "I'm…I'm not sure I haven't," he admitted. He looked around the room warily, but it was empty, save for furniture, Joe, and himself. No one in the room but him and Joe…and definitely, no girl! _There's no girl in the room…._

"I'm losing it – I'm going completely crazy!" Frank whispered. "It's the only explanation for what I saw. I – I must be suffering from stress…or coming down with the flu….or something insane like that, because it's the only way to explain—"

Joe was staring at his older brother as if he really _was_ losing it. "Frank – what are you talking about?"

"I don't know – I'm just…just…spooked." Frank stared into Joe's blue eyes pleadingly. "Joe, I saw someone…someone in here. A girl – about our age. Slender. She was dressed in old-fashioned clothes, and she had long pale hair and light brown eyes. I felt this icy-cold wind blow through the room, and Joe, that wind did what she wanted it to! She pushed me with it – and she called me a murderer! She was going to kill me…."

Joe looked at his older brother with incredulous disbelief. "Are you trying to put me on?" he demanded.

"NO!" Frank shook his head emphatically.

Joe eyed him dubiously, but it was obvious his concern was outweighing his skepticism. He reached to lay a hand on Frank's forehead. "You're a little warm," he conceded. "Maybe you should ask Megan to take you home and have Mom check your temperature—"

"I'm not running a fever," Frank denied, and shivered again. "Besides, we have to wait for Con to show up."

" _Murderer…"_ The thin voice whispered, drifting past him.

Frank looked around, from side to side, expecting to see the ethereal girl standing somewhere close by…but saw nothing. He wrapped his arms about himself tightly, wishing that Megan was there to hold him. Or even his mother, at this point. _I'm obviously having a mental breakdown…stress from school, or something!_ He ignored the fact that he hadn't been stressed about school in years.

"Frank – what is it, bro? Are you all right?" Joe's worried voice broke through to him again.

"I don't know," Frank replied miserably. "I'm hallucinating or something. Maybe I am sick. I didn't think I was, but…."

The sounds of car engines and doors slamming interrupted him. The Bayport Police department had arrived, and with them, the county sheriff's patrol. A few moments later, Con Riley strolled into the room, looking as if he'd much rather be anywhere else but where he currently was.

"You two ever going to do anything normally?" he asked, smiling tightly. "You know," he continued, "most kids do reports and that's all it is. A report. A little research, a little book-cracking, a lot of typing, and that's it. They're done. But the Hardys? Oh, no. They do the research, they crack the books…and then they have to find bodies, on top of it!"

"We don't do it on purpose," Frank muttered tiredly.

"It wasn't bodies, plural," Joe protested, over his brother's words. "It's just one. And it's a skeleton, not a body. It's probably a thousand years old! Besides, it's not like we asked to find a skeleton, Con! I have a report to write for school. Giving police statements is going to take me away from my class reports, and I don't have time for that!"

Riley rolled his eyes. "Give me a break, Joe!" He peered at Frank, eyes narrowed. "Frank, you okay?"

Frank shrugged noncommittally. "Fine. I think I'm coming down with a cold, or something, that's all." He looked over at the doorway, and saw Megan standing there, her eyes anxious. He crossed the room and slid an arm about her, then wrapped both tightly around her shoulders, holding her small form hard against him…more for his own comfort than hers, he admitted to himself.

Megan gasped. "You're freezing! And shivering…you feel like you've been standing in front of an open window!" She shivered herself, and put her arms about his waist. "How did you get so cold?"

Frank shook his head. "I don't know; for some reason I'm just cold." He had absolutely no desire to tell Megan about the…ghost. The vision…. Hallucination. He didn't understand it himself, and didn't want to share this experience with her in the slightest! "I want to get out of here as fast as we can, Baby."

"I think that's a very good idea," she agreed. "Can we give our statements and go?"

"Sounds like a plan," Con Riley offered, from where he was inspecting the fireplace. "The investigative team is going to be here for quite a while, and you all would just have to try and stay out of the way, if you hung around here. Looks like we'll have to tear out the whole fireplace." He moved to sit down, taking out his notebook. "Let's hear it. You first, Megan."

Megan obediently recited the events leading up to her grisly discovery, shivering a little as she told of feeling the bone beneath her questing fingers. "I didn't want to pick it up," she whispered. "I – I made Frank do it."

"Okay, good enough. Frank, assuming you don't have anything to add to the earlier part, what happened then?"

Frank completed the story in a few sentences. He didn't mention the strange apparition he had seen, though. Ghosts weren't in the police's jurisdiction, were they?

"Well, I'll get the statements typed up tonight, and you can come down and sign them tomorrow," Con told them. "I'll talk to Miss LeGault and get hers…. Now go on home. You both look tired out."

They left the room hand in hand, and made their way to the front sitting room where the others waited. Frank was feeling much better, but he still yearned to go home as soon as he could. The whole strange scene with the girl-ghost was beginning to feel distant and surreal, something he'd imagined. _I must have imagined the whole thing….surely I just imagined it._

"Megan and I are going to go on home," he informed Joe, who nodded his understanding.

"That's okay; catch up with you later."

 _There's no such thing as ghosts_ , he told himself firmly as he escorted Megan towards the Saturn.

"Oh, darn!" Megan exclaimed in annoyance as she started to get into the car.

"What's wrong?"

Soft mutters of irritation came from his girlfriend's curved lips before she gave him an explanation. "I left my purse in the lighthouse," she said at last. "I remember setting it down in the lens room, when we listened to Cherise's story, and I didn't pick it up again when we went outside."

"No problem." Frank smiled reassuringly and kissed her quickly. "I'll go get it. You stay here, where it's warmer."

He walked to the lighthouse, grateful that Cherise had not yet locked things up, and entered, switching on the light so he could see the stairs. He climbed up to the glittery lens room, and found Megan's purse where she had left it. He picked it up and turned to descend the stairs once more.

Halfway down the curlicue staircase, Frank gave a start as an icy breeze swept over and past him again. _What the…?_

" _Murderer…"_ The whisper taunted him again; the girl's voice coming from behind and above him. Frank turned his head, instinctively seeking the source of the hissed word, and heard another word: _"Die…."_

The cold wind swirled harder, and he felt something push him hard in the small of the back. Unable to catch the stair railing, Frank fell forward, feeling the impact of each step against his body as he tumbled to the bottom of the staircase and landed hard on the stone flooring….

Before everything went dark.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH, Guest/Penlew and Max2013!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 10

Joe stood next to Vanessa, watching the police teams come and go through the lightkeeper's cottage. He was beginning to wonder if this research project was going to be worth it. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to choose this place after all!

He was glad that Frank and Megan had decided to leave; it was obvious that Frank wasn't feeling well. What was that whole business about, anyway, Frank insisting that he'd seen a ghost who'd tried to kill him? _Frank doesn't believe in ghosts. I know_ _I_ _don't believe in ghosts! Frank's sick, that's all – he's sick, and he hallucinated the whole thing!_

That didn't really make him feel any better, Joe conceded to himself. He didn't like the idea of his brother – his level-headed, super-intelligent older brother – hallucinating about ghosts. No! That didn't sound much like Frank, even if he _was_ sick. The flu made people cough, or gave them headaches, or made them throw up. What kind of virus would make a person see something that sounded so…whacked-out?

Still wrestling with his troubled thoughts, Joe continued to hold Vanessa in his arms, taking some comfort in her nearness. As they were temporarily left alone, he backed her into a dark corner for a few moments of serious kissing, hoping to take his mind off his worries about Frank.

When he halted the kiss, Joe stared into Vanessa's blue-gray eyes and smiled. "Maybe we'll have to come out here alone some time, babe. There's something romantic about being at a lighthouse, don't you think?" He sincerely hoped Vanessa didn't recall that they had just discovered human bones there, a distinctly UN-romantic idea!

Before she could reply, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted them, and they parted, hastily returning to the living room. Matt jogged up the porch steps and entered the cottage, camera in hand.

"Dudes! Did you guys really find a skeleton in the closet?" Matt's green-hazel eyes were sparkling with incredulous delight.

Joe chuckled, and shook his head. "No, Eckersley, we did not find a skeleton in the closet. That would be too much of a cliché. Megan and Frank and Cherise found bones in a fireplace!" He watched Matt's reaction; the other man showed some conflicting emotions. There was excitement there…and there was also some apprehension. Evidently Matt wasn't quite sure which way to jump, on this.

"Do you know who the skeleton is?"

"No. No idea." Joe shook his head. "At this point we don't know anything at all about it."

"It's probably pretty old," Vanessa observed. "I doubt that any of us know who it is; it could be anyone at all."

"You gonna include this in your project?" Matt wanted to know. He grinned hopefully. "I can take pictures…."

Joe and Vanessa exchanged looks for a moment, before Joe shrugged and replied. "I guess it depends on how it ties into the history of Stone Point, Matt. If we can figure that part out, I mean. But I'm not sure you'd be allowed to take photos. That would be up to the police. It might make things more interesting, though," he added, more to Vanessa than to Matt.

She rolled her eyes, but laughed indulgently. "It's very possible we'll include the mystery in the research paper; after all, we did find the skeleton, didn't we? Well, WE didn't, but you know what I mean."

"Cool!" Matt looked around, and spotted Cherise, who was standing forlornly off to one side of the room, looking very upset and shaken still. He walked over to her, setting the camera down on a nearby table. He slipped an arm about her shoulders and gave her a gentle hug. "Hey, you okay, Cherise? You look pretty weirded out. I'm new to finding this kind of stuff too…. No sense in going through it alone, right?"

Startled, Cherise stepped back a pace or two. "Matt, I – I've got a steady boyfriend—"

"And I've got a steady girl, currently in London," Matt interrupted. "You just looked like you could use a friend right now. I didn't mean to spook you… Friends, that's all – okay?"

The girl nodded, reassured, and moved back into the comforting arms. "You're right, and I do. Thanks, Matt – this was a shock. I've been coming here for years and years…and knowing that…THAT'S…been there all the time…." She shivered, and Matt hugged her a little closer.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay."

He glanced at Joe and Vanessa over Cherise's shoulder, and grinned and winked. They could both see why Cherise had been surprised; after all, she barely knew Matt! – but they also both knew that this was merely Matt's personality and desire to help, coming through. He meant nothing more than friendship and sympathy – Matt had no ulterior motives!

"Let's go see if we can get an idea how long the police are going to be here," Joe suggested. The four moved towards the door, when a sudden shout reached them:

"FRANK!" And then – "Joe! JOE!" It was Megan's voice, raised to a desperate yell.

Joe burst out of the cottage door, sprinting across the yard to the lighthouse entrance, where Megan stood, gesturing wildly at him. Behind him, Joe was vaguely aware of Matt, Vanessa and Cherise hurrying in pursuit. "What – I thought you'd gone home! What's wrong?" Joe skidded to a stop in front of her.

"Frank…it's Frank…" Megan pointed inside the lighthouse.

Joe dashed in, spotted his brother lying at the bottom of the spiral stairs, and dropped to his knees beside him. "Frank!" _He's breathing…._ He pressed two fingers to Frank's wrist, and sighed with relief when he found his pulse to be strong and steady. But his concern increased when he took a good look at Frank, for there was a large knot on the side of his head, and a gash on his forehead which was bleeding profusely.

Joe whistled softly through his teeth, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to hold against the injury. "Frank – come on, wake up, here," he encouraged. "Megan, what happened?"

"I don't know," the girl replied in a shaken voice. "Frank came back to the lighthouse to get my purse; I'd left it up there." She gestured upwards, indicating the lens room. "I waited for about five minutes for him to come back. When he didn't, I came looking for him – and found him here!" She stared down at Frank, her turquoise eyes wide with terror that he might be seriously hurt.

"It'll be okay, honey." Vanessa was there now, hugging Megan reassuringly. Cherise and Matt added their reassurances to hers, and Megan began to look a little calmer.

"Red, take it easy; he's got a hard head." Joe gave her a quick grin.

A moment later, Frank groaned, and moved a hand towards his head. "Ow!…shoot…."

Joe caught his wrist. "Don't touch," he commanded. "Lie still. Matt, go ask the police to send an ambulance around, would you?"

"Sure thing, man." Matt nodded and departed hastily.

"I don't want an ambulance," Frank said in a weak voice, "and I don't need one, either." He opened one eye, then the other, and peered up at his brother. "Just help me up."

"Not a chance," Joe denied the request firmly. "In this case, Big Brother Frank is not going to win the argument we're about to have. You're going to at least be checked out by a paramedic, because if I drive you home instead, we're going straight to the hospital. At this point, you get a choice."

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions about whether I need medical treatment," Frank grumbled, attempting to lever himself up to his elbows.

Joe pushed against his chest, holding him immobile. "You can make your own decisions when you're not lying on the ground bleeding from a head wound!"

Making an exasperated noise, Frank subsided. Megan squeezed herself between the wall and Frank's right side, kneeling down beside him. She replaced Joe's fingers on the folded handkerchief with her own, and pressed it gently against Frank's head.

Joe smiled at her, and let her take his place. "Be my guest, Red," he murmured.

"Doggone it, Joe, I'm fine; I just want to go home." Frank argued again. "I don't need an ambulance, I don't need paramedics, I don't—"

"It's a head wound and you were unconscious," Joe replied obstinately. "I'm not taking any chances, so you might just as well stop squawking about it."

Frank sighed, a deep, reproachful, resigned sigh.

"Glad you decided to quit arguing." Joe grinned in satisfaction. "But – while we're waiting for the EMTs to show up, I'd like to know what happened. How did you manage to fall down the stairs? At least, I assume you fell…?"

Frank blinked at him a time or two, and then closed his eyes…a sure sign, Joe knew, that he didn't want to discuss it.

"Did you trip or something?" Joe pressed.

"I don't know." Frank didn't open his eyes. "I was just walking down the stairs, and it felt like something – or someone – shoved me down the steps. I can't describe it very well….Maybe I was just imagining it, and I just tripped, or something, and lost my balance." He opened his eyes and squinted up at Joe. "Whatever it was, my head is killing me! I just want to go home!"

The ambulance arrived shortly, and Frank submitted to the medics' probing and questions, meekly letting them take his vitals, check his eyes, and clean and bandage the cut. He did _not_ , however, agree to let them take him to the hospital!

"All right, if you won't, you won't." Exasperated, the paramedic turned to Joe. "Keep an eye on him tonight. Wake him every two hours, and if he's dizzy, or disoriented, or starts to feel worse, get him to the hospital right away!"

"I'll watch him like a hawk!" Joe vowed – and the look he gave Frank promised his older brother that he would do just that.

The medics took their leave, and the police investigators returned to their tasks. Joe helped a shaky Frank get to his feet, and walked him slowly towards the parked cars.

"You sure you're okay? You're not going to try to drive, are you?"

"He is not," Megan stated firmly, and took her boyfriend's arm in a no-nonsense grip. "I'll drive him home, Joe, and pick up my car. Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets there safely."

"I know you will, Red." Joe gave her a conspiratorial smile as they tucked Frank into the Saturn's front passenger seat. "I can always count on you."

#####

"Dude, you like, saw a ghost?" Matt was so excited he could barely sit still. The young man watched Frank with keen interest, green eyes flashing as he regarded the older Hardy. "Wonder if I could get a picture of one…suppose I could? Wouldn't that be something to show editors and publishers, though? I could show absolute proof of the existence of the paranormal, man! I'd be…I'd be just like…like Mulder, man!"

"You'd be more like Bill Murray or Dan Ackroyd in _Ghostbusters_ ," Frank muttered caustically. He held his hands up in half-surrender, half an attempt to stem Matt's enthusiastic torrent of words. "Anyway, I'm not really sure if I saw a ghost or not, so cool your jets, Matt. My subconscious was probably playing tricks on me anyway. For one thing, I don't BELIEVE in ghosts!"

"If there wasn't a ghost there, then why did you feel so cold, or feel a cold wind push you down the stairs?" Matt demanded.

"I think it was the wind, Matt. It came from the open door. I probably didn't get it latched tight, when I went in…and it blew open as I was coming down the stairs. No reason to think it was a ghost, for Pete's sake!"

Matt didn't look convinced. The thought of ghosts was more intriguing than the mundane 'the door blew open' excuse Frank was trying to push. "If the wind blew the door open, it would have gone up the stairs, not pushed you down, man! And if it was just the wind, why did you hear a voice, then?" he pressed. "Why would you imagine someone calling you a murderer, if it was the wind? Hey, dude, I'll bet it was the ghost of whoever that skeleton you found is…was…whatever! I'll bet it IS that girl, that you found—"

Frank shook his head vigorously, then winced and hastily stopped the movement. "Ouch!….No, Matt, there's no way it can be something like that! There's just no such thing as ghosts – ever. No such thing!"

Matt eyed the elder Hardy skeptically, wondering if Frank was as convinced of his words as he sounded. He could see something in Frank's eyes…granted, he didn't know Frank all _that_ well, but…but…he could see it, just the same. Something that said Frank was no longer all that sure of his convictions about the existence of ghosts!

"Okay, man, okay. Chill. I'm not arguing it." Matt leaned back and took a sip from the can of soda he'd gotten himself earlier. He watched Frank carefully as the younger man gingerly touched the bandage covering the cut on his forehead. _He looks like he's trying to convince himself that it really happened,_ Matt thought. _Or is he trying to make himself believe that he really just imagined the…the whatever-it-was?_ _He says he doesn't believe in ghosts, but…._ Matt wasn't so sure he believed Frank's vehement declaration that there wasn't any such thing as ghosts. He was willing to keep an open mind about that.

He took another drink of soda and glanced at Joe, who was engrossed in the day's college football scores being shown on TV. The younger Hardy brother was commenting vociferously on each score, either cheering or lamenting, depending on the outcome of the game. Frank caught Matt's attention and rolled his eyes theatrically at Joe's antics. Matt grinned, wondering to himself if this was what it would have been like to have brothers!

Seeing Joe was completely focused on the sports news, Matt finally spoke quietly again to Frank. "Frank…dude…so you really think it wasn't a ghost, then? It was just the wind?"

Frank gazed somberly for a moment down into the cup of hot chocolate he held in his hands, then slowly his eyes tracked up to meet Matt's. "I think so," he stated – but then his eyes slid away from Matt's. "Except…"

Matt could clearly see the uncertainty on Frank's troubled countenance. "Except?" he prompted softly, even more convinced of Frank's inability to dismiss this as mere coincidence.

"Except," Frank said, just as softly, "there was no wind blowing tonight…."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you for the comments/feedback, Cherylann, Max2013, and BMSH.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 11

"No! No! DON'T!"

The cry ripped through the silent darkness of the Hardy house, causing Joe to sit straight up in bed, blonde curls askew on his head as he clutched his blanket and blinked, trying to figure out if he'd actually _heard_ the cry, or dreamed it! Instinctively, he glanced at the bedside clock. _Three-forty-eight._

Another cry, weaker this time, reached his ears. Joe threw back his covers and flew out of bed, flinging open the door to the bathroom which connected his room and Frank's. He darted across the room, flipping on the bathroom light, and opened Frank's door. He could see his brother lying on his bed, struggling with…what? With something invisible to Joe. _Nightmare,_ Joe surmised. Even with the thought, he heard Frank cry out again, and he sped to the bedside, gripping his shoulder gently.

"Easy, Frank – easy. It's just a dream. Wake up…!" Joe shook him a little, then more insistently. "Come on now, wake up."

"NO!" Frank screamed again, and his hands clutched at his throat as if he couldn't breathe. In the dim light from the bathroom, Joe could see his face was turning a dark shade of red. Alarmed, he reached to switch on the bedside lamp.

Joe's eyes widened. From what he could see, it looked like Frank actually WAS having trouble breathing! He shook Frank's shoulder again, harder. "Frank! Wake up now! It's just a bad dream, that's all – come on, Frank!"

Frank's eyes snapped open, and he stared up into Joe's face, but Joe could see he wasn't really looking at him, at least not at first. Frank's eyes were wide and glassy with shock and fear, and he continued to struggle with his invisible foes, and to fight for breath. Joe, growing more alarmed by the second, tugged Frank's hands away from his throat and held them down, then slapped him – lightly – across the cheek, to try and get him to respond. "FRANK!"

Frank exhaled sharply and went limp, his eyes finally focusing on Joe. Joe stared down at him. He heard the door to the hallway open, but ignored it, concentrating on his brother; a few seconds later, Laura was there beside him, with Matt close behind.

"What's wrong?" Laura demanded. "Joe? What's wrong with Frank?"

Joe glanced at his mother, stared a moment, then shook his head uncertainly. "Nightmare, I think. A bad one."

Frank was gasping still; drawing in heavy breaths, then exhaling sharply. His face slowly began to regain its normal color, as he got more air into his lungs, and Joe relaxed…infinitesimally. Frank stared up at Joe, at his mother, at Matt, his eyes shifting nervously from one to the other.

Gently, Joe gripped his arm. "Hey there…you listening to me, bro? You awake now? You with us?"

Frank nodded slightly. He was obviously badly shaken. "Yeah. Think so. S-sorry…really sorry," he muttered weakly. "It was…so real!"

"What were you dreaming about?" Joe asked quietly. "Was it the – the ghost?"

Frank nodded and shivered. "Yeah." He sat up, and glanced uncertainly at Matt and Laura. "Sorry I woke you."

"Talk about it?" Joe requested.

Frank squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, then opened them. "I…okay," he said, a little reluctantly. "I dreamed I went back to the lighthouse. And she – she was – that strange girl, she appeared again. It was a lot like today. She insisted that I was a killer – that I'd murdered somebody, and that I was going to pay. She kept pointing at me, and coming towards me….And then, she was right there – I felt her hands go around my throat. They tightened…and tightened…and I couldn't breathe! I fought her off – I can kind of remember crying out, yelling at her to stop, that it wasn't me – but she didn't stop, and she kept coming back! It was – it was so real!" he gasped, and shook his head, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms tightly about them.

"Easy," Joe murmured, rubbing his back gently. He felt awkward; he wasn't sure what to say. "It was just a dream, Frank, just a dream. Whatever you're coming down with must be playing games with your head…but you're all right."

Frank nodded doubtfully. "Guess so…."

Joe knew Frank wanted very badly to believe him – wanted to believe he was coming down with some sort of bug that was giving him delusions or hallucinations – the trouble was, Joe wasn't altogether sure that he himself was convinced!

Laura seated herself on the edge of the bed and put her arms about her older son. "Honey, it was only a dream. I know it seemed horribly real, but it's all right – you're all right." Gently, she smoothed his dark hair and rocked him slowly, as if Frank was little again. "It's all over now."

"Mom…he really was having trouble breathing," Joe hated to mention it, but felt compelled. "It was pretty intense, for a dream."

Laura looked alarmed. "Trouble breathing? Maybe we ought to have you checked over at the hospital, Frank…."

"NO!" Frank scrambled back away from his mother, pushing against the headboard of his bed, staring at her in horror. "I don't need to go to the hospital, Mom! No – I can't…."

"Sweetie, breathing is fairly essential," his mother reminded him. "You were knocked unconscious this evening, remember? Head injury? And we're supposed to be watching out for problems…."

"You know, dizziness, disorientation, severe headache," Joe interposed. "Not breathing counts as a problem." He grinned cheerfully as Frank glared at him.

"I'm fine," Frank grumped. He looked up at Matt, who had been silent all this time, watching him with considerable concern. "You've all been taking turns pestering me all night, waking me up every two hours…you're not going to drag me off to the hospital just because I stressed out over a nightmare!"

At this sign of returning normalcy – if a slightly _cranky_ normalcy – Matt grinned and winked at Joe. "Dude, we're not going to drag you anywhere," he chuckled softly.

"You'd better not try," Frank warned darkly, but relaxed.

"Maybe we could just wait until morning," Joe suggested. "See if anything else happens?" He was well aware that Frank had absolutely no desire to go to the hospital…he hadn't wanted to go when he'd hurt his head. "But with the knock on the head you took…you sure you don't want to get it checked out, just to make sure?" he asked once more.

Frank shook his head, gingerly checking his bandage. "Not a chance. I just want to go back to sleep and forget that dream ever happened!" He slid down beneath the blankets, then paused, looking from Joe to his mother, and then to Matt.

"You want some company the rest of the night?" Joe asked carefully. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with leaving Frank by himself quite yet.

Frank blushed. "No, I'm fine," he mumbled. "I'll be just fine. Go back to bed, everybody, and get some sleep!"

"You're due to be waked up in two hours anyway, dude," Matt reminded him, with a yawn followed by a wry grin. "It's my turn."

"Oh, joy." Frank extended his check for Laura's kiss. "Night, Mom. Night, Matt."

"Sleep well, honey," Laura hugged him hard, and kissed him one more time.

"Hope you're okay, dude," Matt murmured, and wandered out the door.

"I'll leave the doors open." Joe turned off the lamp and headed for his own room. _And I'll keep an ear out the rest of the night!_ he vowed, as he climbed into bed. _Just in case that homicidal ghost decides to take another crack at him!_ Joe sighed. He didn't want to believe in something as cockamamie as ghosts…but he also didn't want to believe his older brother was cracking up. _No…Frank is just as sane as I am. Saner, maybe!_

 _Don't worry, big brother,_ he thought, settling back into bed and staring up at the ceiling. _I've got your back._

#####

Stretching up so that his hands hit the headboard; stretching down so that his feet dangled off the end of his bed, Joe yawned and blinked several times, staring up at the ceiling above him, before he finally forced himself to a sitting position. For a moment, he couldn't recall why he was awake so early on a Sunday morning – the one morning he was usually able to sleep in – but then he remembered the night before.

Frank, crying out in the middle of the night…struggling in the grip of a hellacious nightmare, fighting to breathe…and he, Joe, hearing the terror in Frank's voice; hearing the unspoken fear that Frank was losing touch with reality….

Joe sighed as he got out of bed, and stretched again, working out the kinks which had formed overnight. He went into the bathroom to take care of some early morning business, carefully shutting the door to Frank's room. While brushing his teeth, he heard movement in his brother's room – the bed creaking, then soft, sleepy mumbles, and shuffling footsteps across the carpeting.

"You going to be out of there anytime soon?" Frank sounded entirely normal, if drowsy.

"Jus' a minute," Joe replied around a mouthful of toothbrush. He finished brushing his teeth, then opened Frank's door. "It's all yours." He departed for his own room, considering his upcoming day.

 _Vanessa and I are going to get together around noon, to go back to the lighthouse,_ Joe recalled. _Hopefully we can get some more research done! Wonder if the sheriff, or the Bayport PD, knows anything more about those bones Frank and Megan found? Nah….Probably too early to get any information from them…._

 _Wonder if we could see if Cherise knows anything about missing people from the lighthouse? If she does, maybe we could figure out who the skeleton is! That is, if it's a person who lived there, and not just a victim of someone who thought a lighthouse cottage would be a nice out-of-the-way place to hide a body!_

 _It's Sunday…she wouldn't be at work. Do I have her home phone number?_ He couldn't remember. He stretched once more, and squished his toes into the thick carpeting of his bedroom floor, relishing the feel of the soft pile. He switched on the radio, seeking a weather report, and padded over to his dresser, digging in for clothing for the day.

"… _high of 45, low of 30 – we may be seeing snow before the night is out, folks, so bundle up and stay safe. Now back to more music from WBPT, the voice of Bayport…"_

"Oh, swell," Joe muttered to himself, and pulled out jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, a long-sleeved flannel shirt, and underwear. He dressed slowly, listening to the song being played on the radio: _TNT_ , by AC-DC. _More bad weather…possibly snow._ He hoped _that_ part of the forecast was wrong, otherwise it was really going to muck up their trip to the lighthouse, although both his car and Vanessa's jeep were able to navigate snow with no problem. Hopefully the moisture would let up by noon, or it would at least stay warm enough to just rain – although he knew it was perfectly capable of snowing a blizzard's worth in November.

He remembered _lots_ of snowy birthdays for Frank!

Speaking of Frank, wasn't he taking an awfully long time in the bathroom? Joe didn't hear the shower running…he could hear him fumbling around in the medicine cabinet. "You okay in there, Frank? Did you come down with that virus after all?" He popped his head into the bathroom, raising an inquisitive eyebrow in Frank's direction.

"I just have a headache," Frank replied. "Probably from last night. Probably from people waking me up every two hours," he continued, with a reproachful stare at Joe. "And no, it's not bad enough to have it checked. It's just residual. I'm fine."

 _Right…you're fine. Sure you are!_

"I'm going back out to Stone Point at noon today with Vanessa," Joe said aloud. "I assume you're staying home today?"

There wasn't an immediate answer, and Joe began to wonder if Frank was insane enough to return to the lighthouse again. _No way,_ he thought. _Frank doesn't have ANY reason to hang out in a cold, murky lighthouse today. Megan said she was spending the day with her mom – shopping and stuff. Girls' day out, and all that. Frank should stay home and take care of himself…._

"Well, I thought I might go out and see if I could find out anything about the investigation into the skeleton," Frank admitted, to Joe's complete amazement.

 _Are you NUTS?_ For a moment, Joe was afraid he'd blurted the words out loud. And then he realized what Frank was doing. He didn't want to admit he was scared enough to stay home…so he was going to go out and face the source of his fears. _Great. Just_ _great_. Joe couldn't believe his logical older brother was even consideringthe idea that the ghost might be…real _. Nah! That's probably why he's going out! To prove that it_ _isn't_ _real!_

"Well, bring Matt along; he'll be good company for you while Vanessa and I take notes," Joe advised, and returned to his room to find his shoes. _And maybe some protection…._

 _All right, Ghost!_ _We're coming out there but if you lay one hand on my brother, there's going to be hell to pay!_


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you so much to Cherylann, Max2013, BMSH and Penlew for your feedback!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 12

 _I do not…repeat…do NOT believe in ghosts!_

Whether he was trying to convince someone else, or just himself, Frank was unsure. What he was sure of, was that it seemed to be necessary to keep reiterating that reassuring phrase, every waking moment. Ever since he had awakened to the realization that he'd nearly died the night before.

He had been sleeping…he knew he had been sleeping. Drifting downwards into slumber, then upwards into harmless thoughts of Megan, or of hurting the next person who came in to deliver the next two-hour wake-up call. He knew it was standard practice for a person with a possible concussion, but that didn't mean he had to like it! And then, without warning, as he sank into deeper sleep once more, SHE had appeared, and all hell had broken loose! _She could've killed me!_

Frank sighed, realizing he was being maudlin, morose and cranky, all at the same time. Why on earth was he was suddenly so convinced that this apparition was real? What made today so different from the rest of his logical, rational, seeing's-believing, life?

He stared through his bedroom window, which overlooked the back yard and the patio. He shivered; it looked cold out. Thoughtfully, he walked over to the desk and jiggled the computer mouse, awakening the darkened screen. _Better check on the weather forecast…._ Although the weather sites could never seem to make up their minds about what they expected the weather to do. _Check three sites, get three different predictions…._ Well, he'd do it in a minute. Frank stood still, mentally debating the wisdom of going out to Stone Point Lighthouse. _Why wouldn't I go?_ _I must be getting paranoid in my old age!_

 _I'll be twenty in a few days,_ he thought morosely. _Heaven knows if I'll actually live to be twenty! That homicidal ghost might succeed in her vengeful plans!_ He paused, giving his head an abrupt shake. _No, I do NOT believe in ghosts! There is no such thing as ghosts. There is No. Such. Thing._

Using the relaxation techniques learned in his many martial arts classes, Frank forced in several deep breaths, concentrating on the sheer physical act of breathing, letting the air flow into and out of his lungs. If his sensei could see him now, he'd laugh – or be terribly disappointed in his student, Frank knew. He felt a little calmer now. Whatever was wrong with him – why he was seeing a nonexistent ghost – he'd deal with it.

 _There's no such thing as ghosts_.

He quietly went about his morning routine, showering, shaving and brushing his teeth; dressing in jeans, a long-sleeved polo shirt, and a warm pullover sweater in rich brown tones. He pulled on thick socks and tied his sneakers before he returned to the bathroom to check the bump on his head. To his immense relief, Frank saw it was almost gone already, and the cut over his eye looked to be healing just fine. He was really, really glad that nobody had forced him to go to the hospital. _I've spent way too much time in hospitals in the last four months – if I never go to one again, it'll still be too soon!_ He was fine, his head was still attached, he wasn't dizzy or disoriented, and despite the nightmare of the preceding night, he was feeling much better.

 _Good!_ He smiled at his reflection as he straightened his sweater and combed his dark hair. He was ready to face another day in _Casa de Hardy_.

"Primp any more and I'm going to start calling you Frances," Joe grinned from the open door into his bedroom. "You must spend more time in the bathroom than Vanessa and Megan combined!"

"I do not!" Frank protested vehemently. He took a swipe at Joe's head with the comb he still held, but Joe just laughed and danced back out of the way. Frank grinned. "I happen to know a certain person who walks around with a comb in his pocket and whips it out about a thousand times a day while looking into the mirror of his Aztek. Sound familiar?"

"Not at all," Joe retorted.

"I owe you some smacking around, by the way," Frank informed him, moving slowly towards his brother with his hands menacingly outstretched. "For disturbing my sleep all night. Ready to pay?"

"Disturbing your sleep?" Joe protested, backing into his room, "If you smack me, you've gotta smack Matt and Mom, too, ya know! They helped! Besides, big brother, I'm not the one who woke everybody up screaming bloody murder, remember?" Joe caught his breath in consternation. He hadn't meant to remind Frank of the nightmare episode.

Frank, however, shrugged it off. He wasn't going to get freaked out by mention of his nightmare. They happened – life went on, didn't it?

"Ringleader always gets it first," he stated, moving after Joe with dire purpose. The quick movement, however, jarred his head, which chose that moment to start hurting yet again. And it had just _stopped_! "Whoa…."

Joe stepped forward, all traces of laughter gone. "You okay? What's wrong? What happened?" He laid a hand on Frank's arm.

Frank moved the arm, shrugging Joe off. "Headache, that's all. You've hit your head before; you know what it's like. All seventy-six trombones are warming up…not to mention the 110 cornets!"

Joe, relieved, made a face at his older brother. "Sometimes I wonder if you're a mutant, Frank. Nobody else I know would use a reference to an old musical to describe the pain in their head!"

"Culture, little brother, culture," Frank pronounced in a lofty tone. "If I don't implant some culture in you, how else are you going to get it? I'll bet you can't even name the musical!" He grinned at the expression on Joe's face, as Joe stuck out his tongue saucily.

" _The Music Man_ you aren't! Hah! So there! didn't think I knew, huh?" Joe turned and headed for the hallway. "I'm off to see what we have for breakfast."

Frank nodded, and returned to his room. He sat down at the computer to check his e-mail and the weather sites. Three different forecasts for the Bayport area greeted him, and the best seemed to be a high of 50 and a low of 41. The possible chance of snow was mentioned more than once, and a better than possible chance of more rain. Frank sighed and wished it would make up its mind, already.

Of course, if it snowed, he'd be grounded from flying until it stopped. Jack Wayne might trust _himself_ to fly in a snowstorm, but he didn't allow either Frank or April to take off in weather like that. It was too risky on the engines when icy conditions were prevalent – or so Jack said over and over again.

The phone ringing interrupted the Hardy boy's thoughts, and he grabbed it hastily. To his surprise, he heard Jack's voice on the other end. "Weird, I was just thinking about you," he said. "Just in regards to the weather, though," he added, hearing Jack's chuckle.

" _I'm in a tight spot, Frank,"_ Jack said. _"Since we didn't fly those runs because of the weather, I'm playing catch-up today. I know you aren't scheduled, but I've got a second run that really,_ _really_ _needs to be done today – preferably before the bad weather hits. Do you think you could take it? It's just to_ _Hiawatha – it should only take you about two hours, tops. Ordinarily, I'd just have April do it, but she's down with the flu, and I'm about to leave for my own flight."_ A wheedling note entered Jack's voice. _"If I kick in overtime pay?"_

Frank leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Sure, I can take it," he replied. "No problem here. I'll grab some breakfast to go, and be out of here within a half hour, all right?"

He could picture the relieved smile on his boss's face as well as hear it. _"_ _Great_ _! Thanks, Frank! It's already loaded, and I'll leave the paperwork on the seat. And Frank? Take it easy out there – it's not started up on the weather yet, but it could hit while you're out, and I don't want you taking any unnecessary chances, got it?"_

"Sure, 'Dad', I got it," Frank laughed. "Keep some of the good advice for yourself, Jack," he added, more seriously, "you'll be up in it too, remember. Have a safe flight."

He hung up and made his way downstairs, walking softly past the closed doors to his parents' room and the guest room, trying not to awaken either his mother or Matt. He found Joe making scrambled eggs in the kitchen, and calmly appropriated half to make sandwiches to take along. He also filled a thermos with the coffee remaining in the pot."

"Hey! What's with stealing my breakfast?" Joe demanded, scowling. He pointed accusingly at Frank's sandwich. "What's going on?"

"Change of plans," Frank explained briefly. "That phone call was Jack – he needs me to fly a run this morning, since we couldn't do them yesterday. Thought I ought to get another one in—" he grinned, "and he offered me time-and-a-half for flying it! I'll try to meet up with you at the lighthouse later. It's just a hop to Hiawatha, so I can probably make it there."

Joe nodded his understanding as he prepared to scramble more eggs for himself, eating at the same time. "Okay," he muttered around a mouthful of toast, motioning for Frank to go, "have a good flight. Oh, wait!"

Frank paused, looking back inquiringly, his hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"

"Forgot to mention to you…" Joe chewed and swallowed hastily. "The _Sleuth_. You might check it out, while you're out. If we want to give Matt his ride in it, we're going to have to do it before the weather gets nasty, otherwise it's no go."

Frank had no intention of letting Joe realize just how much relief he was feeling about Jack's sudden request, or how much he hoped the flight would take long enough that he could skip going to Stone Point altogether. No way was he going to admit being scared of a ghost… _ghosts don't exist!_ he reminded himself firmly. Joe's suggestion about the _Sleuth_ seemed like divine providence!

"Hey, I'll be more than happy to check her out! Do you want me to call you when I get back, then, so we can go?"

Joe frowned indecisively, poking at his panful of eggs. "Why don't you just plan on you and Matt going?" he said at last. "I doubt if Vanessa really wants to go out and freeze to death on that boat, anyway. If the _Sleuth_ is okay, why not just pick up Matt and go?"

"Sounds good." Frank very carefully kept his voice casual. _It sounds a whole lot better than going back to that lighthouse!_ "When Matt wakes up, tell him I'll call him later. And tell Mom where I went, okay?" He took off out the door, clutching his thermos and sandwiches. He was looking forward to the flight. _Maybe once I'm up in the air I can get my mind off…everything. Like ghosts._

#####

It took longer to offload the plane's cargo than it did to actually fly the run to Hiawatha, located on the far eastern edge of Long Island, New York. The flight itself had been great, Frank reflected, a decent tailwind that helped with both fuel and speed, and then a smooth landing on the small airstrip just outside of Hiawatha.

He did wonder, though, about people who insisted on flying cargo into small towns on Long Island, from Bayport. You could practically _drive_ across the island – traffic notwithstanding – in a couple of hours! Why waste the money on air cargo charges, anyway? Still, there were always people who were eccentric enough – or desperate enough for the package – to demand cargo be airlifted rather than driven to a destination. And as long as that was the case, Frank was only too happy to do it. It brought money into Wayne's World's coffers, after all!

The man who offloaded the cargo was big and burly, and reminded Frank a lot of his old friend Biff Hooper – well, what Biff might be like in a few years. _The guy would make a great defensive tackle for the Titans,_ Frank thought with an inward chuckle, thinking of Joe's hapless football team as he watched the man effortlessly heft the heavy boxes from the plane and trot down the ramp.

But he wasn't much of a conversationalist, was Stan Boyd. He greeted Frank with an abrupt nod, showed the right ID, signed for the packages, unloaded them, and was gone without anything further being said. Frank shrugged, deciding this guy wasn't much like Biff, _personality-wise_ , and waited for him to drive off, before he double-checked everything on the plane, got clearance from air-traffic control, and took off for the short hop back to Bayport. Some people just weren't much for communication.

Frank settled into his flight path and glanced at his wristwatch. One mission nearly completed and it was just coming up on eleven o'clock. He'd left Bayport at 9:45…he'd have plenty of time to check on the _Sleuth_ and then pick Matt up. Maybe they could get the trip done by 2:00 or so. It would be nice if they got back before the threatened colder, wetter weather hit. _Unless Matt's changed his mind about wanting to go on a sea trip in 40-degree weather_ , he mused. _Maybe he has._

Frank stretched a little, flexing his shoulders, and reached for his thermos, pouring out some coffee. He took a sip and checked the instrument panels, smiling contentedly. Another twenty minutes and he'd be back on the ground in Bayport. He felt peaceful and relaxed. The memories of last night's horrific dream had faded, along with whatever it was that had been bothering him…whatever it was that had made him think he was being chased by a ghost.

 _Almost killed by a ghost. Twice_. Suddenly, the contentment was gone. Frank shivered, and tried to push the disturbing thoughts away again. _No way am I going to keep freaking out about this...no way!_

 _Murderer! Killer! Assassin!_

 _Don't go there, Frank,_ he warned himself. _Don't go there. You're still flying through the air in a plane! Not a good place for a freak-out!_

He worked his shoulders up and down, then moved his head back and forth, stretching slightly and adjusting in his seat until he could concentrate on his instruments and dials once again. _Okay,_ he warned himself. _No freaking out. Stay calm…stay cool._

 _Killer! You'll pay!_ The voice echoed in his mind.

Frank screamed. He didn't mean to, but the cry involuntarily ripped from his throat without his permission. He took a deep, shuddering breath…and then froze.

Cold wind blew past him – around him – through him. Frank wanted to scream again. But he couldn't…he couldn't….

He couldn't scream. He couldn't move.

He was frozen in place…on a plane several thousand feet up in the air!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Max2013, BMSH and Cherylann, for the comments!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 13

 _RAT-A-TAT!_ The knock on the back door was sharp and precise. Joe hurried to answer the summons, flinging the door open to reveal Vanessa's lovely features and bright smile. She was warmly dressed, boot-cut jeans encased her long, slim legs, topped by her old, flame-colored parka. Her boots added an inch to her height, making her equal to Joe himself.

"Hi – am I on time?"

"In, in! Get outta the cold!" He urged her inside hastily, and shut the door behind her. "You're on time," he added, grinning. "In fact, if you'd been any earlier, I might not have been here. I had to run an errand for Mom." Joe wrapped one arm about his girlfriend's shoulders and pulled her close for a kiss. "Close your eyes," he requested, when the kiss ended, and watched her obey. He whipped his free hand from behind his back. "Now open."

Vanessa did so, assuming an expression of surprised delight as she beheld the single red rosebud Joe was holding in front of her. "Oh, it's beautiful!" She guided his hand closer, so she could inhale the flower's fragrance. "Mmmmm!" She took the rose from him. "Thank you!" she breathed, kissing his cheek. "It's wonderful!" She took another deep breath, and Joe knew his little surprise was a hit. He was glad he'd happened to think of it – and glad that the supermarket had a florist section!

"We can put it in water and you can leave it here while we're out at the lighthouse," he suggested. "You don't want it to get wilted, do you? Mmmm, Babe, are you always this beautiful, or is there something special going on today?" he went on, sprinkling kisses down the side of Vanessa's face.

She laughed softly and smoothed his wavy hair. "There's nothing special, and thank you very, very much."

Joe grinned happily and filled a glass with water for the rosebud. Then he took Vanessa's hand and led her towards the family room where Matt was lazily watching television.

"Hi, Matt!" Vanessa smiled down at him.

Matt got up from the couch, returning the smile. Joe glanced over at the TV screen, and saw credits rolling. Matt had been watching a program about photography – one which Joe had made a valiant effort to view with him, but had found totally boring after only a few minutes! He had been delighted when Laura had requested he run to the store for her. "Matt, you watched that whole show? How could you stand it?"

"Oh, the guy had some interesting techniques," his friend said. "Even though he was about as boring as an economics teacher. The ideas were still good."

Vanessa laughed. "You've had experience with boring Econ teachers, I take it?"

"All of 'em. Dead boring." Matt stated succinctly. "Then again, I never did all that well in lecture classes. I'm a doer, not a listener, mostly."

"So, what are we doing?" Vanessa asked then. "Are we all still going out to Stone Point? Where's Frank?"

"Slight change of plans, Babe," Joe told her. "You and I are going out to Stone Point. Matt and Frank – when he gets back; he had to fly an emergency run for Jack this morning – are going to take the _Sleuth_ out into the bay. That way we can do more research on the lighthouse, and hopefully find out more about that skeleton, too. We probably won't have to go out there more than once or twice more, unless something else comes up."

"Oh – okay." Vanessa nodded thoughtfully.

"Matt and Frank might join us later," Joe continued. "I'd like some interior shots of the keeper's cottage, and I'd like to do a diagram, for the report…we could show where the legendary jewels were originally found, and where Johannsen's stuff was found – and the bones, of course."

"I can do the photos, no problem, dude," Matt assured him.

"And I can do the diagram," Vanessa added. "Pictures of each of the areas would be really cool, Matt!"

"Let's get on it, then!" Joe urged, and went to get his coat. A few minutes later, he and Vanessa bid goodbye to Matt and Laura, and headed for the lighthouse in Joe's car.

They found the way still quite muddy, from all the rain which had fallen, and not to their surprise, also found that they weren't the only ones there. The Bayport police department forensics team was there too.

"They must still be either freeing the rest of the skeleton, or going over the room where it was found," Joe surmised.

"I don't care which it is, we're going to stay out of their way," Vanessa vowed, shuddering slightly. Joe nodded agreement, giving her arm a comforting pat as they walked towards the cottage. "Let's try upstairs, Joe. I want to look up there – maybe we'll find some more old documents, or something. Didn't Cherise say…" She paused, and waved. "There's Detective Riley."

As they entered the cottage, Con sauntered over and greeted them brusquely. "Here again?….You'll stay out of the way, right?"

Joe frowned a little, and let his lower lip protrude slightly. "I'm hurt," he pronounced. "My feelings are wounded. Con, we always stay out of the way, don't we?"

Riley snorted. "That'll be the day," he muttered. But a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Chuckling, Joe took Vanessa's hand and led her to the stairs, heading for the second floor of the cottage. They stopped in one of the rooms, one which had been a bedroom, but now bore signs of being a museum exhibit – and set about their search. Bureau drawers, table drawers, bookcases – all were inspected, with both Joe and Vanessa taking great pains not to disturb anything which looked too old or fragile to be touched. They discovered the books which Cherise had mentioned two days ago – the journals of the various light keepers, which were stored inside glass-topped cases.

"You can read them," Vanessa murmured, leaning over the case and peering down through the glass. "Look, there's one of the earlier ones…Gunnar Bergstrom." She read silently for a moment, then her eyes grew wide, and she motioned to Joe. "Joe, come look – listen to this! It's dated in November, like now, only….'My daughter has left me. My Emily has run away. This is certain. She has gone from me because I could not protect her from the snake. The snake who would have her despite her feelings. She has left with the boy who loves her. I woke this morning to find she was gone. I found out that Erik was gone as well. They have gone to find their happiness elsewhere. We will miss her dearly, but I wish them both well.'"

Vanessa raised her eyes to Joe's face. "Emily left! Emily…disappeared!"

Joe swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "You don't think…?" A tiny part in the back of his mind was recalling Frank's description of the strange girl he had glimpsed _. Old-fashioned…someone from the past…._

Vanessa shook her head and shrugged a little. "I don't know. Obviously her father thought she'd eloped, not died. But – it would be an awfully spooky coincidence if the bones were anyone else's but Emily's, don't you think?" She motioned to the book beneath the glass. "And look at that part – about 'the snake.' What if 'the snake,' whoever it was, was responsible for Emily's disappearance?"

"Well, maybe," Joe conceded. "But the odd part of that theory is that the boyfriend – Erik – disappeared at the same time. What are the chances that they would both be gone at the same time, unless they left together?"

"Unless they were both murdered," Vanessa whispered.

"But would 'the snake' have killed both her and the boyfriend? Or maybe he took Emily away, and the bones are from Erik!"

"Anything is possible, Joe. People can do very strange things." Vanessa shook herself. "Let's keep reading some of these journals…."

They carefully lifted the glass lid to the case and proceeded to do just that, intrigued by the entries. One of the newer ones caught Joe's eye. "Listen to this one, Van – from the late fifties. Guy named Creely. He took over in 1949. He mentions several different times how 'insane ship's captains tend to ignore stern warnings when delivered to them.'" Joe laughed heartily. "Don't you think he sounds like he's related to Chief Collig?"

Vanessa giggled her agreement, but kept on writing. She was taking frantic notes, copying lines from the journal she was looking at while Joe jotted his own notes from another diary. "Joe," she commented after a moment, "why do you suppose these are here, rather than in the Historical Society archives? What if something happened to them?"

Joe leaned back and regarded her thoughtfully. "Good question. I suppose it's because they want to give the place a feeling of historical accuracy. Having the light keepers' journals here – well, it makes them seem very real and alive, don't you think? Makes this more like a home-turned-museum than just an old, seldom-used facility."

They went back to their data-gathering, but only a few minutes later, Vanessa shook her pen, scribbled on the margin of her notebook, then swore softly beneath her breath. She searched briefly in her bag, muttering further imprecations, and then tossed it down again. "Out of ink! Joe, do you have an extra pen with you? I don't."

He shook his head. "Sorry, Babe, no. There's a couple in the Aztek, though, I'm pretty sure."

"All right, I'll go and get one. Do you need anything?"

"Nope, I'm good. I'm going to finish up notes from this journal, and then I'm going to scout around up here a little more," Joe replied, concentrating on the words he was scribbling down. Vanessa kissed the top of his head fondly, and left the room. She descended the stairs and went outside to find a replacement pen.

Just as she closed the car door, pen in hand, Vanessa paused, surprised to see another car pull up the driveway and park – not Frank's car, not Cherise's, and not Matt's pickup. She waited, wondering if this was another police investigator.

A stylishly-dressed woman with shoulder-length blonde hair emerged, dressed warmly against the chilly day, but wearing dark glasses, even though the sun wasn't shining. She approached Vanessa, a smile edging the corners of her mouth.

"Hello there! Can you tell me who is in charge of this lighthouse?"

"Well, yes, but – no one who might be in charge happens to be here just now," Vanessa replied slowly. "There is a police team here, investigating…something—" she didn't want to go into detail on this subject, just in case it wasn't open knowledge, "and I'm here with a friend, doing research for a college project. I don't believe the caretaker is here right now….But I can give you a telephone number…."

"Do you suppose it would be all right if I looked around a little?" the woman asked. "I'm getting married next spring," she went on, confidingly, "and it's always been a dream of mine to get married in or near a lighthouse! Lighthouses are so intriguing, don't you think?" she gushed. "So much personality to them, that you can't really find anywhere else! I just thought I might get a look around before finalizing things with the Historical Society – you know, see if it's what I really like, or if I should look at some of the other lighthouses in the area."

 _And what does your prospective husband think about getting married in a lighthouse?_ Vanessa wondered. Oh well, it really wasn't any of her business! "I suppose it would be all right," she said aloud. "So long as you don't touch anything, and you stay out of the rooms where the police are conducting their investigation. I could show you around, if you'd like…?" Vanessa didn't really feel comfortable letting this person simply roam about by herself. She could take a few minutes from the research project to act as an impromptu guide.

"Why, thank you! I'd appreciate that." The woman smiled and held out her right hand, which was encased in a sleek leather driving glove. "I'm Ellen Conrad, by the way. I'd love a quick tour – I promise, I'll get out of your way as soon as possible, but I would so appreciate a chance for a look around!"

"Vanessa Bender." Vanessa shook the proffered hand briefly. "Would you like to go into the lighthouse itself?"

"Yes, very much." Ellen smiled demurely, nodding.

Vanessa led the way to the lighthouse entrance door. She keyed the alarm code into the security panel, conscientiously using her free hand to shield the pad from Ellen's interested, intent gaze. _Why's she staring so hard…?_

Once inside the conical structure, Vanessa led the way up the staircase, showing the other woman everything and trying to remember interesting details that Cherise LeGault had mentioned.

Although Vanessa had worried about having to remind Ellen not to handle things, she noticed that this wasn't a problem. She watched…and stared at… everything, which made Vanessa slightly uncomfortable, but she didn't attempt to touch a thing. When they finished looking over the lighthouse, Ellen made another request.

"Could I possibly look at the keeper's cottage too? The lighthouse itself is so very beautiful – I've looked at it before, at night, and it's simply gorgeous, when the light is shining. It would be so romantic to get married that way! But I can't decide if I'd want it at night, with the light on, or during the day…."

"Well, let's see what the investigators say. It ought to be all right," Vanessa temporized. She led the way back down the stairs and out of the lighthouse, carefully relocking the door behind them. They proceeded into the house, where it seemed that the police investigators were finally finished. They were packing up their equipment and heading for the cars.

"Vanessa—" Con Riley motioned her over. "Tell the guys that I'll give them a call later. I don't have time to talk to Joe right now. And remember, you all need to come down to the station and sign those reports, okay?"

"All right, I'll tell Joe," she acquiesced.

Ellen Conrad watched the conversation with curious interest. Vanessa, in turn, watched Ellen Conrad with a slight qualm of uneasiness. She still hadn't removed her dark glasses, Vanessa realized, and it seemed odd. _Why would she keep those dark glasses on; it's definitely not that bright in here!_

As if reading the younger woman's mind, Ellen spoke, as Con Riley took his departure. "I'm afraid it may be a little dark in here for me. I have an eye condition that nearly causes me to go blind – temporarily – any time an unexpected light flashes in my face. I wear these sunglasses all the time now, even indoors, to protect my eyes."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Vanessa said, accepting the explanation with relief. "Is it something that can be cured, Ms. Conrad?"

"No, unfortunately," Ellen said sadly. "But I've gotten used to it since being diagnosed. It's not too bad so long as I take precautions."

"Well, let's get started—" Vanessa was about to lead the way to the kitchen area, when she heard footsteps and a plaintive call from above:

"Babe? Vanessa? I've gotten all my notes finished. How long does it take to get a pen, anyhow?" Joe came down the stairs, frowning in confusion when he spied his girlfriend standing near the open door with a strange woman. "Oh – sorry, didn't mean to interrupt…."

"It's okay. Ms. Conrad, this is Joe Hardy; Joe, Ellen Conrad. She asked me to show her around the lighthouse and cottage."

Ellen smiled, and her eyebrows rose above the rims of her dark glasses, making it evident that her eyes had widened appreciatively. "How do you do, Mr. Hardy?" she purred, shaking hands. She remained standing near Joe…a little too near for Vanessa's comfort. "As I told Vanessa, I'm going to be married in the spring, and I've decided that nothing will do except that the wedding must be held at a lighthouse! So I've been touring the various ones in the area…doesn't that sound like a lovely idea, a wedding at a lighthouse? What would you think of having a wedding here?"

Joe, flustered, stumbled over his reply. "Uh – I suppose it – I've never thought all that much about – sure, it sounds like a good idea to me!" As quickly as he could without seeming rude, Joe stepped away from Ellen's side and moved close to Vanessa, taking her hand in his and holding on to it tightly.

"Now you both can be my tour guides!" Ellen's voice was bright and enthusiastic. Joe and Vanessa exchanged glances, each of them wondering how they'd managed to get into this situation!

They walked through the house, and eventually ended up in the back bedroom where the skeleton had been found. The fireplace which had concealed the body had been knocked down and the bricks removed – something which, both Joe and Vanessa were sure, would upset Cherise considerably, once she knew of it! Now the only things left were a few loose bricks and the original back wall of the house.

"Heavens, what a mess!" Ms. Conrad exclaimed in shock. "It looks like a bomb went off in here!"

Joe chuckled. "Not a bomb. Something almost as destructive, though – the Bayport Police Department forensics team!"

Ellen went through every room at least twice, and although she didn't touch anything, as she had agreed, it seemed obvious – to Vanessa, at least – that the woman was looking for something. Whether it was merely information-gathering for her wedding, or something specific, Vanessa wasn't sure. At last, however…

"I really like this place! I'll call the Historical Society first thing this week, and see about the arrangements for holding the wedding here!" Ellen graced them with another bright smile. "Thanks again so much for showing me around. Nice to meet you both!"

"We were glad to do it," Joe replied courteously, and he and Vanessa walked Ellen to her car.

When the woman started the motor, she pulled down the sunglasses slightly, and peered over the top, closely observing the two young people who had walked over to the lighthouse and were standing in front of it, apparently absorbed in the view of the ocean. A small smile flashed on Ellen Conrad's face as she put the car into Drive and pulled away.

"Later…" she murmured softly, watching Joe and Vanessa in her rear-view mirror. She removed the sunglasses and tossed them onto the seat beside her – and then pulled off the blonde wig, which joined the dark glasses. She shook out her dark chestnut hair, running her fingers through it with relief. Once out of sight of the lighthouse, she drew the car to the edge of the road and took a cell phone from her bag.

"I was there and got the two-bit tour. A couple more days of surveillance ought to do it – and if those kids are still hanging around when we decide to move in…well, too bad."

A cold smile touched her lips. "We'll just have to get them out of the way!"


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you so much, Cherylann, Max2013, BMSH and Guest, for the feedback!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 14

Frank struggled against the paralyzing horror which was threatening to overwhelm him. _Okay, this is some sort of mental thing…some terror from my past is now surfacing in my mind and presenting itself as a ghost. That sounds good, doesn't it? In my head, it sounds good – makes sense. But why a ghost? And what terror?_

He shook his head slightly, and felt a vast sense of relief. _That's good – I can move my head. That's a good thing. It would be worse if I couldn't move at all. If I can move my head, I can move other things. Right?_

Wrong. Nothing else moved or cooperated.

Again, Frank moved his head, turning towards the tiny space between the seats – and swallowed dryly. For in that space, seeming to hover in midair, was the filmy apparition he'd seen before; seen in the cottage, seen in his dream. The girl – the slender, fair-haired, quaintly-dressed girl with the hate-filled, accusing eyes!

" _You killed him…."_ came the whisper. To Frank's surprise, he was now picking up on something in her speech – the soft lilt of a Scandinavian accent. A ghost with an accent – how very strange! _"I saw you. You killed Erik right in front of me; I watched you do it. Killed him in cold blood – my Erik! And you'll pay…I'll make you pay. You thought you were getting away with it, didn't you? Thought I would go with you, once Erik was gone. And now you'll join him – and me – in death!"_ One translucent hand raised slightly, extending towards him.

The elder Hardy boy swallowed again, grateful that he could at least do _that_ much. He shifted his gaze to the instrument panel, and watched in fascinated horror as the controls began to spiral slightly. He hadn't had a chance to switch on the autopilot…if he wasn't able to move very, very soon, the plane was going to nosedive. He felt it buck beneath him, just once. To his infinite surprise, he saw the ghost's eyes widen at the movement. _How can a ghost be afraid?_

Afraid or not, the specter only paused momentarily, then again extended her hand, her fingers closing into a fist. Frank felt as if the breath was being pushed forcibly from his lungs; they were contracting inside his chest and refusing to allow oxygen in again. He struggled against this inside force which was holding him in stasis – to no avail. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't do anything.

Again the plane bucked and tilted, and Frank's hands slipped from the controls, falling limply to his lap. He screamed then, all too aware of his mortal danger – using up what little air he had left, but unable to stop….And his voice was suddenly drowned out by a higher-pitched shriek of sheer terror! Wrenching his eyes from the instrument panel, Frank looked at the hovering form beside him, and saw her eyes grow huge and terrified as she peered out the window of the cockpit.

" _SORCERY! FOUL SORCERY!"_ she screamed – and was gone as abruptly as she had appeared.

It took Frank a good ten seconds to regain control of the plane – to realize he was once again able to move; to grab the yoke in his trembling hands and pull it back; to increase the throttle and thankfully watch the nose of the plane rise and level out.

 _Wow…._ He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, grateful to feel air filling his lungs once more. _I sure hope nobody in the control tower noticed how erratically I was flying, there! If they did…I'll be grounded in a heartbeat! And how could I explain it to Jack? 'Oh yeah, Jack, I'm really sorry about the near-crash. You see, there was this ghost in the cockpit….' Riiiiight._ Jack would have him checked into the nearest psych ward in no time at all.

"Tower, this is November Papa Charlie 218 requesting permission to land." Frank heard his own voice and marveled at its steadiness. Who would have known that just a few minutes previous, he had been screaming in terror as a ghost forced the breath from his body and nearly made him crash his airplane?

" _Roger that, 218, use Runway #3. The coordinates are—"_

Habit took over. Automatically listening and responding to the instructions, Frank brought down the cargo plane without mishap, then taxied towards the Wayne's World hangar. Once parked, and the engines switched off, Frank sagged back in his seat and stared out the front window of the cockpit, eyes blinking rapidly.

 _That was close. Too close. Way too close. I'm seriously losing it, here!_

It had been one thing when he'd seen – imagined he saw? – the spectral figure at the lighthouse. Spooky, but explainable; he'd just found the skeleton in the fireplace, his mind was open to all sorts of suggestions….But then he'd had the nightmare… _was_ _it a nightmare? Or had she really been there?_ Either way, he'd seen her at home – and now…now, in the plane? He was seeing her in all sorts of places, which seriously suggested that he was either being stalked by a phantom, or was losing his mind. He didn't like either option. And he didn't want to accept the fact that he might not be safe, piloting a plane. _Nope, don't want to hit Jack with that. Don't want to tell Jack_ _anything_ _about this!_

 _Just chill out, Hardy!_ Frank ordered himself sternly. _You're being an idiot, and you're totally losing it, here! Chill._ _Now_ _. Whatever is going on, you can figure it out – so just get the post-flight checks done, and then go check the Sleuth over, and then go pick up Matt!_

With his plan of action formulated, Frank carefully ran through the post-flight checks. He gathered up the garbage from his snacks and threw it away, then made sure the cockpit was clean – although he consciously refrained from dusting anything, in a small gesture of defiance. Let Jason do it; that's what Jack paid him for, wasn't it? Well, wasn't it? He wished he could call Megan; a conversation with her would have been immensely comforting just then, but Megan was busy with 'girl stuff,' as she had laughingly explained it, with Carolyn, today. Still, thinking of her helped drive ghosts and near-crashes from Frank's mind, and instilled a warm, contented feeling inside him.

Smiling to himself, Frank jotted down a list of things that he needed to check on the _Sleuth_. There weren't that many. _The old girl's still in pretty good shape, all things considered. There won't be much to do before she's seaworthy._

Navigating carefully through the rain-slicked streets, Frank drove to the marina and parked near the Hardys' boathouse where the _Sleuth_ was moored. The boat, covered by an old tarpaulin, bobbed gently up and down in the small waves coming into the boathouse. Frank pulled off the tarp and stepped aboard; he inspected the flooring, the engine, the outside to the waterline, and the life vests. After filling the tank with gas from one of the cans stored on a shelf, he relocked the boathouse and headed for home, to get Matt.

"Dude, I am so psyched about this!" Matt greeted him enthusiastically. "I can't wait to get out there!"

"Matt, remember, it's going to be freezing out there! You may not think it's all that cold, on land, but once we're out on the Bay…." Frank voiced the warning, knowing that Matt probably wasn't listening, but feeling obliged to say the words anyway. "Now come on, let's get dressed. You can't go out in those clothes; you'd be an ice statue in ten minutes!"

Matt followed Frank upstairs, where the elder Hardy proceeded to haul warm coveralls from Joe's closet, along with a warm hat, gloves, and a heavy coat.

"Dude, I can't wear these!" Matt held the coveralls against himself. "Joe's like four inches taller than I am, and he outweighs me by, like, fifty pounds! They're way too big! And if I've got all that stuff on, I'm not going to be able to move; how can I take pictures with my hands in those gloves, huh? C'mon, give me a break!" He tossed the garments on Joe's bed, disdainfully.

Frank fixed his friend with a stern look. "Either you wear 'em, Eckersley, or we don't go. I'm not exaggerating about the temperature. It's your choice." He turned and went into his own room to put on his own cold-weather gear, hearing Matt's soft grumbles behind him.

"We oughta wear wetsuits, dude!" Matt yelled, through the bathroom.

"You're right," Frank conceded, walking back into Joe's room, "but we don't have time to find one that would fit you. Both Joe's and mine would be too big for you."

Matt heaved a heartfelt sigh and capitulated. "All right, okay." He reached for the coveralls again. "You're the boss, dude."

Despite the feigned reluctance in Matt's words, Frank noticed that the glint of excitement had returned to the other man's eyes, as he picked up his camera bag and followed Frank to the Saturn, a few minutes later, and his anticipation mounted as they drove to the marina.

"This is the coolest boat!" Matt exclaimed, as they boarded the _Sleuth_ a short time later. "It's like totally awesome!"

Frank grinned as he pulled out a life vest and handed it to his friend. "Put this on." He got out a second vest for himself and donned it, then opened up the boathouse doors to the bay. He knew it was going to be miserably cold out on the water, but something about Matt's enthusiasm was infectious, and he couldn't help looking forward to this trip, silly as it might be. When he took a look at Matt, swaddled in Joe's outsized clothes and topped by the large life vest, he started to laugh; Matt resembled some sort of gigantic roly-poly bug!

"I hope you're going to let me take a picture of you," he commented, still chuckling, as he indicated where he wanted Matt to sit. "Oh, and stash your camera bag there," he added, pointing to one of the largest compartments. "You don't want it getting any wetter than necessary." Once Matt was situated, Frank started the engine, and carefully backed the boat out of its shelter, and onto the waters of Barmet Bay.

To Frank's relief, the winds were light; lighter than he had anticipated; lighter than they had been in days. However, as the _Sleuth_ built up speed, it created its own wind, causing spray from the water to slap up into their faces. He grimaced against the cold water's impact, and wondered again if he was nuts to have agreed to this jaunt!

Matt was bubbling excitedly, pointing out various sights of interest, noticing and commenting on things that Frank had taken for granted for years, so used to seeing them that he no longer was aware. So thrilled that Frank found himself wondering if this was the first time the guy had been out on the water before. He throttled down, so they could talk more easily.

"Matt, is this the first time you've been out in a boat?"

"Heck no! I've been around boats all my life!" was the surprising answer. "Dad's had a yacht forever. I love the water, man! I'm a California surfin' dude, remember? I miss my California beaches sometimes." Matt flashed his irrepressible grin. "I've done a couple of photography gigs on the water, here. But the Pacific's different from the Atlantic – freezing-cold seawater's kind of a shock, ya know? But it's all ocean water, and that's what I like."

"If you're so nuts about the ocean, I'm surprised you went into photography instead of something like oceanography."

"Well, Frank dude, I'll tell you." Matt grinned cheerfully. "I've got no head for science, see. I like to look at the ocean – totally cool, ya know? – but I don't like to learn every little thing about it. It's the art I like – the way it changes every minute, the way it creates a totally new picture you never saw before. Blink and it's gone, you know?"

"I never thought of it that way," Frank admitted. He smiled warmly at his friend. "I can see why you're an artist – a photographer – now."

Matt blushed. He made no reply, but his smile was radiant.

"Well, let's get on with it." Frank increased their speed, and the two men huddled down into their layers of clothing as the icy spray lashed them once more. Frank wondered if Matt's enthusiasm would hold out through the discomforts of the chilly ride. He hoped it did, for otherwise the trip wasn't going to be all that much fun for him!

"There's the lighthouse," Frank pointed out, after a few minutes, indicating the structure atop Stone Point. "It looks different from this side, doesn't it?" He slowed the _Sleuth_ once more.

"Yeah, dude, it does." Matt pulled out his camera and started taking pictures. He took several shots, then changed lenses, and shot again; changed lenses again, shot more photos.

"This would be cool at night," he commented, "but I think maybe we could wait and do that in like, the summer, maybe. You're right, it's like, completely cold out here, bud!"

Frank laughed. "Yeah, and it's wet, too."

"Can we go a little farther out?" Matt requested, changing lenses yet again. "I'd like to see how much of Stone Point I can get into one shot – sort of a 'ship in distress' point of view!"

"Okay. But let's not actually be a ship in distress." Frank obligingly swung the tiller, sweeping the _Sleuth_ in a wide, curving arc, and bringing the craft further out into the Bay.

"Stop here, man!" Matt yelled, a minute or two later, and Frank obeyed. He turned around and watched as Matt snapped several pictures, talking all the while. "Look, dude, see it? See how perfect it is? Overcast, but there's just that slightest hint of the sun coming through. It's hitting the top of the lighthouse right now – see it, Frank?"

"I can see it now, yeah," Frank nodded. "I'm impressed, Matt, I really am. You've got an incredibly good eye. You'd make a good investigator – at least, when it came to the visual aspects!"

"I've always had a pretty good eye," Matt admitted with a grin, "at least, so I've been told." He snapped off a couple more shots, then reluctantly began packing up the equipment and storing the bag in the locker once more. "I hate to admit it, dude, but I think I've had enough for one day. I'm ready to head back to warm, dry land again."

Frank nodded emphatic agreement. He was glad Matt's artistic urges were finally appeased. _HE_ was certainly freezing to death! He hoped Joe and Vanessa fully appreciated what he and Matt were going through, just to get photos for their research project! He started the engine and swung the _Sleuth_ about once again, heading for the shore.

When they were about half a mile from the boathouse, Frank became aware of the throb of another boat's engines nearby. He was surprised; there weren't many people who were crazy enough to come out on a day like today. To his shock, the second craft was flying towards them without even a pretense of slowing; shooting across their bow, and sending an enormous wave of seawater up and over the _Sleuth_ and her occupants. The _Sleuth_ tossed dangerously in the churning water, and dipped perilously low, threatening to capsize!

Matt grabbed for the nearest handrail and held on for dear life, as the icy water washed over them. He howled at the shock, and then heard Frank give a startled yell – and he watched helplessly as Frank Hardy was swept overboard and into the cold waters of Barmet Bay below!


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you so much, Cherylann, Max2013, BMSH, and Guest/Barb, for the continued feedback/comments. It is very much appreciated.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 15

"Whoa, dude! FRANK!" Matt's voice shook with anxiety as he yelled. The wildly bouncing _Sleuth_ settled a bit, weaving and bobbling as the waves diminished, and Matt loosened his death-grip on the railing, making his way forward as rapidly as possible. Thanking his lucky stars that he was no novice around boats, he stopped the _Sleuth's_ forward momentum, knowing he needed to get back to his fallen friend as quickly as he could.

Looking back, he could see Frank bobbing in the water, held up by the life vest, but struggling against the waves and the spray which was flying over him. Quickly, Matt swung the wheel, turning the _Sleuth_ in a neat half-circle, and brought her in close to the struggling college student in the water.

"FRANK!" Matt yelled his friend's name again as he grabbed a floatation ring attached to a rope, and hurled it towards Frank. "Grab this, dude!"

Frank made a valiant effort, struggling to swim towards the ring despite being weighed down by his heavy clothing. Once he'd managed to grab the device, he held on tightly, letting Matt haul hard on the rope to bring him next to the _Sleuth_. Then Matt leaned over the side, reaching down a hand to pull Frank over the edge of the boat.

"Frank, dude, are you all right?" Matt ran a hasty check of his friend. He was relieved to see that Frank was breathing okay, but he was shivering so hard he couldn't manage an immediate reply. Thoroughly wet and cold, the elder Hardy huddled on the bottom of the boat, shaking. "Frank? Tell me where we need to go; I'll get us back to the boathouse." Matt moved from Frank's side, back to the wheel.

"Right – over there. R-right…th-th-there." Frank gestured feebly, but it apparently was enough for Matt, who nodded, and opened the throttle wide. The _Sleuth_ shot forward like a torpedo, bouncing across the restless waves. Frank grimaced in pain as the cold wind whipped up by their passage slammed into him, and ducked down as far as he could, trying to get out of the wind as much as possible.

Matt ran the _Sleuth_ into the boathouse at a much faster clip than either Frank or Joe had ever tried it; if Frank had been in any condition to notice, he would have cringed in alarm – but for all his seemingly-reckless speed, Matt berthed them safely, switched off the engine, and then pulled Frank from the bottom of the boat.

"C'mon, dude, we've got to get you out of here."

"M-Matt, th-there's s-s-some sh-sh-sheets in that cupboard, and I've got a b-b-b-bag with c-c-c-clothes, in the c-c-car." Frank's teeth were chattering so hard he could barely get the words out, as he stood in the damp, drafty boathouse.

"Keys?"

"P-p-p-pocket." Frank made an abortive attempt to reach his keys, but his shaking hands couldn't function. Matt reached into the back pocket of Frank's overalls and pulled the keys out.

"Stay there, dude, I'll be right back." Shivering himself, for he was nearly as wet as Frank, due to the swamping wave which had hit the _Sleuth_ , Matt made a dash for Frank's car, returning in a few minutes with the bag to find Frank standing exactly where he'd left him – shaking uncontrollably.

"Dude, don't, like, take this personally or anything, but we've gotta get you out of those wet clothes, and right now!" Matt stated firmly. "You're turning into a Popsicle, man!"

"'Kay." Frank, realizing that Matt was right, dutifully tried to help his friend with the clothing removal process, but he was unable to do more than tug feebly at his soaking-wet garments.

Matt sighed. "Just stand there, dude, and let me handle it, okay?" With an efficiency Frank hadn't realized him capable of, the other man stripped off life vest, coat, coveralls, and everything else, then wrapped Frank in one of the sheets he'd found, drying him briskly with the length of fabric.

Frank was still shivering, despite Matt's efforts, but he knew the dry clothing would help. With Matt's assistance he managed to get dressed again, and waited while Eckersley removed his own life vest, heavy coat, and the drenched coveralls, and retrieved his camera equipment from the boat. Finding a plastic bag, he stuffed their wet clothes in, then gathered it up, along with the camera case.

"Come on, man, let's get you home." Matt urged Frank towards where the Saturn was parked. He pulled the car keys out again and flourished them. "I'll drive."

"Just don't wreck it," Frank mumbled, climbing into the passenger seat. He reached into the back seat, located the extra jacket he'd tossed there a few days before, and pulled it around himself gratefully.

Matt emitted a derisive snort, stashed his camera bag in the back seat, tossed the bag of wet clothes beside it, and then climbed into the driver's seat.

"There's a thermos of coffee—" Frank searched the floor of the back seat and came up with it. He opened it and poured some into the cup, which he passed to Matt, then tilted the thermos and swigged a few gulps directly from the container. It wasn't the best stuff in the world, but it was warm, and that was what mattered, right now.

Matt drank some coffee, set the thermos cup in a holder, started the engine, and switched the air flow off, waiting for the heat to build up. Then he turned to face Frank, his hazel-green eyes serious in his thin face.

"Frank, dude, do you run into this kind of trouble all the time, or was this something new?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"Matt…really, it doesn't happen all that often," Frank hastened to assure him. "It was obviously somebody out hot-dogging, that's all – I just don't know why anyone would be out doing it in 40-degree weather! Only insane people go out on the Bay in this kind of weather—"

"Hey, I resemble that one, dude!" Matt interrupted, breaking into a grin. "WE were out on the Bay in it!"

Frank laughed. "Yeah, that's for sure. You do resemble that one!"

Somewhat relieved, Matt put the Saturn in gear and started for the Hardys' home. He could see Frank was starting to feel better; he wasn't shaking nearly as much, and the nasty blue tint his lips had held had changed to a reassuring pink tinge. Matt turned the heat as high as it could go, and switched the fan on High.

The drive home was quiet at first, broken only occasionally by Matt's requests for directions, but as the car warmed, so did its occupants, and they were finally able to hold a brief conversation.

"You feeling okay now, dude? I'm thinking hypothermia, here…"

"I think we avoided hypothermia," Frank said. "I was really cold – and I know you're still wet – but I think we'll be fine."

"I think you're probably right, and I'm glad about it," Matt concurred. "I never had any yen to be an ice sculpture." _I'm glad I don't deal with stuff like this all the time!_ he went on, to himself. _Still, it was kind of exciting…yeah…and there I was, Matt Eckersley, adventurer extraordinaire!_ He grinned at the thought, and continued the drive home.

#####

"Why in the world would someone try to dump you?" Joe leaned back into the family room sofa after dinner that evening, both hands wrapped about a cup of hot cocoa, eyeing the plate of cookies his mother had set on the side table only moments before. Leaning forward again, he snagged a cookie and munched it, a look of supreme enjoyment on his face. "We're not working on a case right now, and you were just taking pictures of the lighthouse, right?"

"It was probably nothing," Frank admitted, striving for a confident tone. He took a sip of his second cup of hot cocoa. Despite warm, dry clothing and a hot dinner, he kept desiring more and more warmth, and the cocoa seemed to satisfy this longing inside. "Maybe just hot-doggers. Like you said, we aren't on a case, and all we were doing was taking photos of the lighthouse and the scenery."

"And dude, I got some great pics, too!" Matt came into the room, returning from a trip to the basement. "I started the film developing, although they aren't done yet. I think you're really gonna like 'em!"

Joe laughed. "No doubt," he said. "No doubt in my mind, 'dude'."

Matt chuckled, and reached to select a cookie from the plate. He nibbled on it thoughtfully, then made a quick detour back to the kitchen to get himself a cup of cocoa. Frank watched, smiling, as Matt sank into one of the recliners, sighing and closing his eyes in bliss.

"So, anyway—" Joe took up his story. "Vanessa and I met this woman today, out at the lighthouse. She wants to hold a wedding there, can you believe it?"

"Well, why not?" Frank looked at his brother with some confusion. "People have weddings in all sorts of places, and a lighthouse isn't really very unusual. Lots of people have weddings at lighthouses. If you want unusual, try a skydiving one, or one held underwater!"

"And please, Lord, don't let anyone ever ask me to do a skydiving wedding shoot!" Matt murmured without opening his eyes. "I'd probably decide I needed the money so badly, I'd DO it!"

The other two chuckled. "She just didn't seem like that type," Joe returned to defending his instinctive feelings. "She had that snooty, upper-class, nothing-less-than-the-National-Cathedral look to her."

Frank shrugged dismissively. "It still doesn't seem so strange to me, Joe. Maybe she just likes lighthouses!"

"Maybe," Joe admitted, "but maybe not. Just think about it. There have been people watching the lighthouse over the past few days – people other than us, I mean. We saw them. And somebody or other might have tried to capsize the _Sleuth_ , with you and Matt in it. And now this strange woman shows up with her weird wedding plans – well, all I'm saying is, there may be more to it than we think."

"Okay, okay. You may have something," Frank conceded the point with good grace. "Maybe we should keep a closer eye on the place. Have you mentioned anything to Cherise about it?"

"No." Joe shook his head. "I didn't think about it until just now, really – adding in your experience with the boat – and besides, until we know if there's really something going on, we don't want to alarm anyone, do we?"

"No, you're right; we don't want to scare anyone unnecessarily," Frank nodded agreement. "But the other question is this: why would anyone bother to stake out an old lighthouse like Stone Point? The only thing it's got worth stealing is that Fresnel lens, and it's not like anyone could just march in and walk off with a several-ton lens, after all. And Stone Point isn't as remote as some other lighthouses; there are all those houses on the hill overlooking it. Plus, it has a security system; not all of them do. It would be much easier for lens-thieves to hit a lighthouse on a remote island somewhere, rather than one that is, in several different fashions, watched over all the time!"

Matt opened his eyes and looked at Frank, a little dazed by the younger man's effortless recital of facts and data to reinforce his opinions. Joe, however, was used to it, and not so easily impressed.

"There's still the matter of the jewels," he argued, sipping his cocoa. "Maybe someone is planning to find the lost jewels and – um - appropriate them. Much easier to transport than a lighthouse lens, easier to pawn, or sell – not like anyone would be able to identify them if they got them, since there aren't any records of what the jewels were like!"

"Nobody knows where the jewels are anyway," Matt put in. "If there really are any jewels." Deciding he _liked_ the idea of there being jewels, however, he went on with the speculations. "Do you think the crooks will have time to find them before someone notices?"

"We already noticed," Joe reminded him with a laugh.

"True." Matt snared another couple of cookies and closed his eyes again. He was feeling an eerie sense of _déjà vu_ with this situation. Wasn't it just a couple days earlier that they had sat around drinking cocoa and eating cookies and talking about the lighthouse? The night after he'd fallen down the cliff edge….Matt shuddered at the memory, and comforted himself with the cookies.

Frank absently took another cookie and chewed it as he pondered the puzzle. _Maybe…but then again, no one's located that elusive treasure in decades of searching_. No, not decades, just a short while. Or had people searched back when the lighthouse keeper had died? Well, he didn't really know; Cherise hadn't been too definite about it. _If no one knew about them, then no one would have been searching to begin with! It's only recently that knowledge of them was made public!_

He sighed and leaned back, trying to relax – and trying to ignore the nagging feeling that he _really_ should tell Joe and Matt about the ghostly visitation on the plane. Much as he wanted to chalk it up to an overactive imagination…no, the uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. It wasn't his imagination.

"I'm going to get some more cocoa." Frank got to his feet and picked up his empty mug. "Matt? Joe? You want more? I'll get it."

"Sure, dude, if you're offering."

"Yeah, thanks bro."

Frank refilled the three mugs and was about to return to the family room when he glanced out the kitchen window. Although it was dark and stormy outside, street lights illuminated the night so that he could clearly see the yard…and Frank was abruptly horror-stricken by the sight of a pale figure standing on the back lawn. A pale-haired girl, dressed all in filmy garments – standing there untouched by the blustery wind and pelting raindrops – staring up at him with a murderous expression on her face.

The cocoa cups hit the kitchen floor with a resounding smash of broken crockery, and hot liquid pooled around Frank's feet. He barely had time to let out a yell – both at the sight of the ghostly apparition and the shock of the accident – when the girl raised a hand, and a cold, hard wind filled the kitchen, knocking him back against the table and driving the air from his lungs!


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH, Barb, Guest and Max2013 for your faithfulness in posting feedback. It is much appreciated!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 16

Frank involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut, struggling against his constricted lungs. Achieving a shallow breath, he opened his eyes, only to find the spectral girl beside him, floating above the floor and staring down at him. _HOW DID SHE GET IN HERE?_ Her expression was more curious now than malevolent. She smiled, and Frank felt something almost like a caress brush against his cheek.

And then her fingers clenched together in a tight fist, and Frank could no longer breathe.

The girl continued to smile down at him, her eyes a clear, tawny brown in her pale face. _"You loved me…you said you loved me,"_ she hissed. _"But you didn't…you killed Erik. And then you killed me. I DIED!"_

Frank shook his head, trying to drag in another miniscule breath and not succeeding. Dimly, he was aware of other persons in the room now. Voices…he heard Joe's voice, asking what happened, demanding to know what was wrong. He struggled to make his voice work, without success. _Can't Joe_ _see_ _her? She's right there – he_ _has_ _to see her!_ Frank felt darkness creeping across his vision from the lack of oxygen, as he stared, mesmerized, at the menacing form hovering so near.

She gazed at him, coldly smiling, then an uncertain, questioning look crossed the pale features. _"Why do you look at me so strangely? You do remember your Emily, don't you? You haven't…"_

Her words were abruptly cut off, and Frank found himself being yanked sideways, hard. Matt and Joe had hold of him, both gripping his arms, and they were pulling him away from the table, away from the girl….

" _Stop!"_ She had turned, and was reaching a hand towards Joe, her eyes blazing with fury. _"Stop! Do not think to interfere in a matter of justice!"_ she hissed at the younger Hardy.

Through a haze, Frank could see his brother's eyes abruptly widen, and he seemed now to be staring directly at the girl. _NOW_ c _an he see her too?_

" _You would protect a foul sorcerer, a murdering scoundrel? He must pay for his crimes!"_ The words were white-hot with fury, icy-cold with hatred, and she spat them at Joe venomously.

Joe swallowed, then tightened his lips and stepped forward with determination. "I don't know what your problem is, lady, or where you came from, but my brother's not a sorcerer and he hasn't killed anyone. Get away from him, if you know what's good for you!"

He raised a hand, intending to push her back, away from Frank – and then frowned, startled when she flew backwards, out of the way. Joe strode forward, hands outstretched to grab her – and just as his fingers were closing on her…she disappeared! He whirled about, his disbelieving gaze searching for her – and saw Frank on the floor, clutching at his throat and drawing in huge gasps of air, exhaling sharply to breathe in just as sharply again. Matt hovered anxiously above him, staring from Frank to Joe with an incredulous expression on his face.

Joe slowly raised a hand to his face, and caught a faint whiff of something sweet…lavender? The cloying scent seemed to clutch at his nostrils. Finally, he crouched beside Frank, attempting to avoid the shards of broken cups and the puddles of now-cold cocoa.

"Are you all right? What happened? And more importantly, who was that girl – and where'd she go?"

"Girl? What girl?" Matt demanded. "Joe dude, who were you talking to?"

"You saw her?" Frank choked out, still working on remembering how to breathe.

"Damned right I saw her!"

"Saw WHO?" Matt again, sounding plaintive.

Frank managed one deep breath, and then another. "That…that was the ghost I've been seeing," he said at last. "Emily. She said her name was Emily. She's the one who's been trying to kill me!"

Joe stared at him, wide-eyed, scarcely able to credit his hearing. "EMILY!?" he gasped. "The lightkeeper's daughter who disappeared!"

"Huh?" Now it was Frank's turn to look confused.

"Vanessa and I read about her today, in her father's journal!" _Emily_. _A ghost. An actual ghost. Nah, there's no such thing!_ he reminded himself firmly. _There is absolutely no such thing as a ghost._ There had to be another explanation for it – for the whole spookiness of it. The way she seemed to not be there when he'd tried to touch her – or the way she'd simply disappeared.

Joe shivered slightly at the thought of how weird everything seemed. _There_ _aren't_ _any such things as ghosts,_ he mentally shouted at himself _. It's got to be lights and mirrors, or something, like stage illusionists use!_

"You really saw her?" Frank repeated.

"Yeah, I really saw her," Joe admitted heavily. "But I'm not admitting she was any kind of ghost. Whatever she was, she's gone now." _And she's_ _not_ _going to kill you, big brother, not if I have anything to say about it!_

"I didn't see anything!" Matt whispered, shaking his head in frustration. He and Joe helped Frank to his feet, and Matt held him propped against the counter while Joe picked up the broken cups and mopped up the cocoa from the floor.

Joe was silent as he worked, his mind churning. He had thought Frank was coming down with a virus before his ducking in the Bay – but now, though he tried to believe it, couldn't think of any illness that caused one to see things the way Frank seemed to be! But…but he'd seen the strange girl now too. Was this hallucination thing contagious?

"You," he announced at last, addressing Frank, "should go to bed, and sleep and get better – and—" he continued, in the firmest voice he could muster, "stay AWAY from the lighthouse!"

"Why?" Frank asked him bleakly. "It doesn't do any good to stay away. She's coming here to find me – here and in the plane."

Joe stared at him. "The plane?"

 _Ooops._ Frank sighed. "I hadn't meant to tell you, but…she showed up on the plane this morning, when I was flying. Froze me so much that I couldn't move – nearly crashed the plane before I could. I was absolutely positive I was going to die….But all of a sudden, she got completely spooked by something; I don't know what. She called me a 'foul sorcerer,' and then she disappeared…and so I unfroze, and I didn't crash, and I landed the plane in one piece. And I went home and took Matt out on the boat to take his pictures…." He looked at Joe, and then Matt…and let his voice trail off.

"And nearly drowned," Joe reminded him grimly.

"I didn't, thanks to Matt," Frank shrugged and smiled at their friend. "And I don't think Emily had anything to do with the boat. And thanks to the both of you, she didn't manage to do anything to me just now. Nothing permanent, anyway." He smiled tiredly. "Seems like I've needed an awful lot of saving, lately."

Joe shook his head. "No more than me, big brother."

"Or me." Matt put in – the first words he'd spoken in a long time.

"I'm bushed," Frank admitted, and headed for the stairs. "I don't care how early it is, I'm going to bed."

Joe looked at Matt, and without a word, they both followed Frank. Bed sounded like a very good thing.

#####

Frank woke the next morning feeling much more refreshed, after a night's sleep that had been free of nightmares. He sat up slowly, and ran his fingers through his dark hair, automatically fluffing it. He felt surprisingly good, considering the way the previous day had gone.

 _It's nice to be warm._ He considered his unexpected ducking in Barmet Bay and smiled wryly _. The Bay, now – THAT was cold! Very, very cold._ Frank sighed in deep contentment as he shoved at a tangled heap of covers and made the effort to stand up. Pushing the covers all to one side of the bed, the elder Hardy finally swung his legs to the floor and got to his feet. Again drowsily rubbing at his face, Frank headed for the bathroom.

He'd expected to see Joe's door to their bathroom standing open; Joe had earlier classes on Mondays than Frank did. To his surprise, the door was shut tight, and listening closely, Frank heard a soft, familiar snore coming from Joe's room. Frowning, he turned and checked the time on his bedside clock. Yep, it really was that late. He knocked lightly on Joe's door, then opened it and peered in.

"Joe? Joe! Wake up – wake up now! You're running late!"

With a startled grunt, Joe jerked upright in bed, blue eyes wide. Frank grinned as he took in the sight of his younger brother's blonde hair shooting out from his head in several different directions. "Huh?"

"You're late!" Frank repeated, nodding towards the clock. Joe looked too, blinking, and then bolted out of bed.

"Oh crud! I'm late! Crud!"

Frank laughed as Joe shot past him into the bathroom. The younger boy grabbed Frank's shoulders and pushed him towards his own room. "Out! Out! You're in my way!"

Obediently, Frank left the bathroom to Joe, and heard the shower snap on with a peculiarly desperate sound. Two minutes to shower, one to wash his hair, and the water turned off, followed shortly by the sound of water running in the sink as Joe brushed his teeth. Calmly, Frank set about making his bed and choosing his clothes for the day, disregarding the noisy chaos going on just on the other side of the door.

When Frank arrived downstairs about 15 minutes later, he wasn't in the least surprised to find that Joe had already left. Frank had taken his time showering, drying his hair, getting dressed. He ate a leisurely breakfast, chatting with his mother, and left a 'hello/see you later' note for Matt, who hadn't yet made it downstairs. Finally, he slipped on his coat, kissed Laura goodbye, and went out to the Saturn.

As he reached into his jacket pocket for his car keys, the elder Hardy was surprised to feel something else in the pocket. He pulled it out and stared at it thoughtfully. _The chain and coin from the lighthouse. The one that was in the wall where we found the skeleton._ Frank shook his head, remembering how compelling his impulse had been to pick up and pocket the chain when he'd found it. _I wonder why…?_

 _Ah well, don't have time to figure that out now._ Putting mysterious coins out of his mind, Frank dropped the talisman into one of the cup holders, and put the Saturn into gear. _I suppose I ought to get it to Con Riley…just one less thing on my mind. I don't need any more stress; being haunted by a deranged ghost is bad enough!_ Frank headed for school, declaring to himself that he would be happy – no, _ecstatic_ – if he never caught sight of the strange Emily-Ghost, ever again!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, Max2013, Barb, Guest and BMSH for your feedback and comments. They are so very appreciated!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 17

Humming softly under his breath, Matt Eckersley wandered the spit of land that held the Stone Point lighthouse. Occasionally he turned to face the structure and snap off a shot or two with his camera. Changing lenses, changing angles, trying to catch the lighthouse from every aspect.

With both Joe and Frank in classes today, Matt was essentially on his own. He had spent a pleasant morning at the Hardys' home; he'd enjoyed sleeping late, and Mrs. Hardy had fixed him waffles when he finally wandered downstairs at nine-twenty. He'd felt a little embarrassed, but she'd just laughed and said she was glad he'd been able to sleep, and did he like strawberry jam on waffles or would he prefer syrup?

After breakfast, though, Matt had decided to do something constructive. A little more scouting around at the lighthouse couldn't do any harm, he reasoned, and he could take pictures to his heart's content _. Never can tell when some shot might be just The One that some publisher will pay big bucks for, to use in an article or advertisement, or something!_ And even without Frank or Joe around, why couldn't he poke around on his own? So Matt had loaded his equipment into his pickup and set out for Stone Point, happy to be out in the pale, fitful November sunshine.

Because _anything_ was better than sitting around brooding about Macey and how much he missed her. _Oh_ , how he missed her! He'd missed her since the day she'd left for London, and he still missed her just as much now, three months later. He pictured her in his mind – the short-cropped dark hair and dancing blue eyes, the exotic dangly earrings she loved to wear and the ever-present snap of the bubble gum she chewed whenever she wasn't singing…or asleep.

"I don't think I can make it another four months until she comes home!" he whispered forlornly to himself. It wasn't that he begrudged her this marvelous experience and the boost to her career – not at all! But…he missed her!

 _Stop it, Eckersley,_ he warned himself. _You're pouting again!_

"All right," he said aloud. "Get your mind on the job, Matt." He gazed thoughtfully at the tall, picturesque lighthouse and its adjoining keeper's cottage. He'd never taken pictures of a lighthouse before, at least not professionally – none of his job assignments had happened to include lighthouses. Well, even if he wasn't getting paid for this gig, Matt suspected he could probably sell some of the photos to several different magazines, if he put the pictures together in an attractive enough package. His career was definitely moving upward, and the name Matt Eckersley was starting to get a little recognition. Not bad, that.

Keeping these possibilities in mind, Matt snapped several more shots, this time getting in more background; including more of the rocks in the distance. Then he prowled again, looking more closely at the terrain close at hand. He found some autumn flowers still in bloom in a protected spot, and hunkered down, switching lenses for some close-ups. Continuing his explorations, he discovered a maple tree which had inexplicably retained most of its leaves, and he spent several minutes capturing the wild array of colors on film.

Happy with his findings, Matt wandered slowly back towards the lighthouse once more, still taking pictures along the way. He gazed out at the sea, watching the water shift colors as the light played across the waves. He once again started taking shot after shot as the beautiful blue went to sapphire here, gray there, green in still another area.

The sight was mesmerizing for a young man who loved art – and Matt loved art. He'd found himself taking pictures at an early age, from the time he'd first gotten a simple little point-and-shoot camera. He'd taken classes in school, learning everything he could about it, from shot composition to the complicated workings of his cameras. Now, he loved being able to take pictures for the fun of it, as well as for his job. Being a free-lance photographer was fun, no question about that, and it certainly made for an interesting career! Some day, perhaps, he might be able to do something really exciting, like a shoot in the jungles of Africa – or the aboriginal tribes of Australia!

 _Or maybe a forensic photographer…._ Matt grinned a little, thinking about that, then made a face. No, taking pictures of dead bodies didn't sound like all that much fun, after all. No _way_ did he want to get attached to the idea of photographing dead bodies! _Crime scenes might be fun – well, fun in a sort of grim way…._ He smiled reminiscently, thinking of how Frank had taken pictures of the fingerprints when they were looking for whoever had stolen Alli's violin. He'd considered offering his services as a photographer then – but had been too shy. He wasn't exactly sure what might have been needed, and didn't want to sound stupid….Crime scenes might be okay, if it only entailed figuring out the exact layout of a crime with his pictures. _But dead bodies? No, no thanks, dude! I'll pass!_ Seeing the bones in the fireplace had been enough for Mrs. Eckersley's little boy – Matt was glad he hadn't had to actually see any bodies!

Deciding that he'd like a few more interior shots, Matt made his way over to the keeper's cottage and knocked lightly on the door, hoping to locate Mr. Carter, the caretaker. He'd parked his pickup near the man's car, so he was fairly sure Carter was around, but hadn't seen him; hadn't wanted to disturb him. After a few moments, the door was opened by Mr. Carter, who nodded a welcome, recognizing Matt from his prior visit.

"Hey, Mr. Carter. Would it be okay if I took some more snapshots of the inside of the cottage?" Matt smiled ingratiatingly.

"Sure, come on in." The caretaker swung the door wider to admit Matt and his equipment. "I'm doing some work in one of the back rooms, repairing an old chair."

"You do a lot of that?" Matt inquired.

"I sure do. I've done carpentry work before, and it cuts down on the costs when I do the work. And it helps to pass the time."

"Well, I'll try to stay out of your hair," Matt grinned. "Unless you'd like to be in the pictures, of course—"

Mr. Carter chuckled a little. "No, thanks all the same." He shrugged. "I'll get back to my work," he added, and moved off.

Left to his own devices, Matt wandered about the house, taking multiple shots of each room from different angles, so that Vanessa and Joe would have plenty of options to choose from. When he reached the back room where the skeleton had been found, he saw that the fireplace had been completely decimated. _Whew, Cherise is_ _not_ _going to be happy about that! What a mess!_ Gingerly, Matt stepped over the remaining rubble and took a few close shots. _Hope the police don't mind me taking pictures of a crime scene – I don't feel all that much like getting arrested!_

A sound from outside caught the young man's attention, and Matt pulled himself from contemplation of the fireplace to go investigate the source. He went to the door of the cottage, expecting to find Cherise, perhaps, or one of the police officers, or even Mr. Carter – but when he opened the door, he was surprised to see…nothing!

Matt frowned and looked around in confusion. _I could have sworn I heard an engine!_ Thoughtfully, he wandered out of the cottage and toward the road, hoping to see something or someone _. Maybe I just imagined I heard an engine…. No! Maybe I'm hearing ghost engines, like Frank is seeing ghost girls._ A laugh bubbled up. _Wouldn't that just be the topper to this whole trip? Frank gets a cute – if murderous – girl ghost and I get engine sounds! Poetic justice, man!_

Still chuckling, Matt swung about to look toward the ocean, again enjoying the view. The laughter died, and he frowned, narrowing his eyes, seeing something he hadn't expected. The boat – the boat he and Frank had seen only the day before. It was there again, only this time, much closer. Reacting instinctively, Matt pushed himself flat against the wall of the cottage, and then cautiously leaned to peer around the curve of the lighthouse. He could see a man standing in the bow, staring at the lighthouse through binoculars and occasionally writing something on a pad of paper.

I wonder if they saw me? How could they miss seeing me, I wasn't exactly trying to hide! I wonder what they're doing, anyway?

Matt slid back into the keeper's cottage, moving carefully. He suddenly was feeling nervous. He went up the stairs and to one of the rooms which had a window overlooking the ocean. He could see the boat from here, and he pulled out his camera yet again, zooming in and taking several shots. _I hope those guys can't see through the windows – can't see me!_ Matt shivered a little. He was getting a very uneasy feeling about being out here on his own, with the lighthouse being watched by – by who? – and not knowing if there were…accomplices out there somewhere!

 _Hmmm. Maybe I should go check that out. What if someone else is watching?_ WHY was the place being watched, anyway? Matt sighed in frustration and stopped taking pictures for the moment.

The ringing of his cell phone nearly made him jump out of his skin, and he fumbled for it in his pocket. But then…

" _Hiya, stud!"_

"Macey!" Matt could feel his whole face light up with his smile. "Hey babe, how've you been? I've missed you so much!" he bubbled. "How's it going, babycakes?"

His girlfriend's sigh wafted as clearly through the phone connection as if they were only separated by a few miles instead of the width of the cold Atlantic Ocean. _"Not so hot, actually. I've picked up some sort of a bug…and I really miss you, stud. I kinda wish I hadn't agreed to stay in London until March."_

"Baby, no way, you know you love it! You do still love it – don't you?"

" _Oh, I love the show – the music. And it's exciting to sing in front of packed crowds night after night, sure,"_ Macey admitted, _"but…I miss…home. It's all so – different – here. And I miss…seeing you every day, Matt. And just…everything about home."_ A very small, subdued sniffle punctuated the words. _"And it's almost Thanksgiving. They don't celebrate that here the way we do. And then Christmas…."_ Another tiny sniffle.

"Aw, Macey. Honey. I'm sorry you're homesick. I wish I could be there, baby – hold you, make everything better for you. Take care of you when you're not feeling good."

" _I know you do, stud."_ He could hear the smile in her voice. _"I'll be okay – talking to you helps a lot, ya know? I'm keeping a countdown of the days until I get to come home. No freakin' way am I letting them extend my contract again! It's 122 days. That's all!"_

Matt smiled. "I know how long it is. I started counting the day you left." He looked at his watch and mentally calculated the time in London – five hours ahead. "Are you singing tonight? Or are you staying home and taking care of yourself?"

" _I'm staying home. The director gave me the night off – my understudy can do the part tonight; she's been just waiting and waiting for her chance to do it! So I've been here in my room, lying on the bed and hugging Chandler—"_

"Chandler, huh?" Matt grinned. He knew who Chandler was – the teddy bear he'd given Macey for her birthday right after they met. Wherever Macey went, Chandler went, too.

"— _and missing you,"_ Macey finished up. _"Where_ _are_ _you, anyway? I tried calling you at home, and Phil said to try your cell phone, and that you were out of town. Photo shoot?"_

"Nope – well, yeah, but not a paid gig. I'm in Bayport, staying with Frank and Joe Hardy. Sort of helping Joe and his girlfriend with a project, and that includes photography – but it's gotten kinda complicated. I sort of fell off a cliff – and Frank and I were nearly swamped in his boat, yesterday. Then, there seems to be a ghost – and a skeleton they found inside a fireplace – and weird people watching the lighthouse all the time—"

" _Matt! You fell off a CLIFF? A_ _ghost_ _?"_ Macey sounded both awed and highly perturbed. _"That sounds spooky – and dangerous – and people watching the lighthouse sounds_ _more_ _spooky! Now, you listen here, stud,"_ she ordered, in mock threat, _"you take very good care of yourself…or ELSE!"_

"I promise, I promise, babe. I'll keep a good distance away from cliff ledges, boats, bad guys, and ghosts. That suit you?"

" _You'd better."_ Macey sighed. _"I've got to go; this is expensive. I love you, stud…write to me, huh? Airmail. Send me some pictures; real ones on paper, that I can hold in my hand. Have Frank or Joe take some of you and send them to me, okay? Bye for now."_

"I will, honey. I love you too – get better. Goodbye."

Matt heard the soft _click_ as Macey ended the call. He held his cell phone against his face for a moment, as if he could keep her there…just a few seconds longer.

Looking out the window again, Matt saw the boat still sitting there, and he lifted his camera back into position to take a few more shots – and then he stopped, completely startled. "What the…?"

A girl stood on the cliff edge, staring out over the ocean, her arms crossed. She appeared wispy and frail, and her clothing looked filmy and not in the least appropriate for the cool November weather.

 _Where'd_ _she_ _come from?_ Matt, acting instinctively, raised the camera and focused. He began to snap pictures, one after another, as the strange girl turned around and faced the cottage. She looked up at him for a moment, and smiled, just a little….

And disappeared.

Matt gulped, feeling his jaw drop open in amazement. He snatched up his camera case and dashed headlong down the stairs, racing for his pickup. _Dude!_ he thought with wild elation, _wait 'til Frank and Joe hear this! I got pictures of the ghost!_


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Many thanks to Max2013, Cherylann, BMSH, Barb and Guest, for the kind feedback you have left.

Ghost of November Past

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 18

Sitting on a bench in the locker room of Bayport Community College's gymnasium, Joe Hardy ruefully rubbed at his muscular calf, feeling the lingering soreness there. _Fate – that's what it is. It's destiny with me and this sad excuse for a football team._ Running what ought to have been a standard pattern, he'd gone out for a pass – but that darned quarterback had overthrown it by a mile! _So what do I do? Hardy, you idiot, you should've let it go, but nooooo, instead you decide to_ _jump_ _for it!_ The result – after landing wrong – was a strained calf muscle. He was lucky, though. It might have been much worse; he could have done real damage to his ankle, but it had held up under the assault. Still, he'd be feeling it for a few days.

Joe pulled on his street shoes, and spent a few moments combing his wavy blonde hair, then walked – very carefully – out to the parking lot. When he opened the Aztek's door, he grinned, seeing an envelope addressed to him in Vanessa's familiar handwriting, balanced atop a small box, lying on his seat. He picked it up and slid behind the wheel, already hurrying to open the box.

A picture frame emerged, and Joe smiled again, seeing what it contained. It was a photo of himself and Vanessa, one which Andrea had taken one evening when he and Van were watching a movie on TV. Vanessa's head rested on his shoulder, her blue-gray eyes half-closed as Joe lazily – tenderly – stroked her hair. They both looked as drowsy and contented as the Benders' cat, Thistle, who lay stretched at Vanessa's other side, his golden eyes shut and one furry white paw extended towards the camera. Still smiling reminiscently, Joe opened the accompanying card.

The picture on the front made him laugh – it was a fluffy puppy, all hair and paws and a full battery of beseeching brown puppy-dog eyes – and three simple words: **Thinking of You**. Inside, was Vanessa's neat script on the otherwise blank card.

When I woke today

I saw your smile.

When I woke today

I heard your laugh.

When I woke today

I smelled your hair.

When I woke today

I tasted your kiss.

When I woke today,

You were there.

I dream of you.

I know you.

I see you.

I hear you.

You are my dream.

For now.

Forever.

V.

Joe's laugh became a grin…and then softened to a contented smile as he reread the words. He'd evidently started something, with his poem a few months ago. _Who'd have thought?!_ He didn't often see this wistful, tender side of Vanessa…and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

With a regretful sigh, Joe returned the card to its envelope and the framed picture to the little box, then set them on the passenger seat. Buckling up, he started the engine, pondering what they should do with the rest of the day. He wasn't sure he was up for another trip to Stone Point. _But you promised Van we'd go, and hopefully finish up all our research!_ his mind argued. He wasn't sure _why_ he wanted to stay away from the place…he just knew he did.

 _Face it Hardy, it's all that ghost nonsense, going to your head…._ and nonsense it was! _Oh?_ That maddening little second voice was in his mind again. _You saw her yesterday, didn't you? You saw her, yourself._ _Oh hush. It doesn't make sense._ Joe heaved a sigh. _At this rate, pretty soon I'll be convinced that vampires exist, and zombies roam the earth…yeah, right._

The sudden ringing of his cell phone made Joe jump, startled. He picked it up, feeling his heart race slightly as he answered.

"This is Joe."

 _"Hi, baby."_ Vanessa's welcome voice came through from the other end. _"Are you going to be ready to go out to the lighthouse soon? I'd really like to get out there and get done, before it gets too dark. Maybe we could finish up today, do you think?"_

 _Maybe I'm not so crazy after all, Vanessa doesn't want to be out there either!_ "Babe, that sounds like a plan. I really like the idea of finishing with it. Maybe we could get a pizza after?"

 _"That's my Joe, always thinks with his stomach."_ Vanessa laughed softly.

"Hey, I'm a growing boy, remember? I need lots of nutrition – and my weekly allotment of Mr. Pizza's pizza! Or, for that matter, anybody's pizza…." Joe let his laughter trail off. "Babe? I found your present. And the poem. Thanks, beautiful. It means a lot."

 _"Oh – you…you found it, huh?"_

He could practically _see_ the color rising in Vanessa's face. "I certainly did….Babe, where do you want to meet? I think I'd like to thank you in person. Soon."

 _"How about the library? We can leave from there, and then you can drop me afterwards, and I can pick up my car."_ Vanessa, carefully disregarding the tone of Joe's last comment, was all brisk business once more, blushes temporarily forgotten.

###

Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot at Stone Point lighthouse. To Joe's surprise, Matt's pickup was still there. He'd never expected that – he figured Matt would have run out of things to photograph long before.

"That's odd, wonder why Matt's still here?" Joe got out of the car, frowning slightly.

"I hope nothing's happened." Vanessa sounded a little worried too; memories of that near-fatal slip down the cliff face were still too recent to be comfortable with.

"No, there he is." Relieved, Joe caught sight of Matt, standing before the entrance, talking to someone. "Who's he with…? Oh, it's Mr. Carter, the caretaker!" The two of them walked up to join Matt and the caretaker, smiling. "Hey, Matt – hi, Mr. Carter."

"Joe!" Matt turned and grinned a welcome. "You have got to interview Mr. Carter for your project, dude; he's like a total anthology of stories about the lighthouse! I'll bet he could be a real help to everyone!"

Vanessa gave Mr. Carter a wide smile. "I'd be more than happy to interview Mr. Carter," she announced cheerfully. "That could be one of our 'people perspectives' for the project. We're supposed to have at least two, and we planned on using Cherise LeGault for one. Mr. Carter, would you mind being interviewed?" Again the charming smile. Joe could have told the caretaker that when Vanessa smiled like that, there was no fighting it…whatever Ms. Bender wanted, Ms. Bender got.

"Well, guess not." Carter shrugged, then inclined his head in affirmation. "I've got no problem with it – so long as I don't have to be in no pictures." He chuckled dryly and indicated Matt…and his cameras. "World's gotten along just fine so far without any pictures of me, and it'll get along just fine after I'm gone."

"That's all right; we won't make you be in any pictures," Vanessa assured him, and Joe nodded his agreement. "Could we do it right now, please?"

"Joe!" Matt tugged at the younger man's arm as Vanessa swept Mr. Carter off to conduct her interview. "I gotta tell you something! You're not gonna believe what I got, dude!"

Joe stared at him. "What is it?"

"I was taking pictures, you know – all kinds of pictures, all over the place," Matt bubbled. "I took a whole lot, and I'm sure you'll like them; you'll be able to use some—"

"That's good; I'm glad you had such a good time, and I'm sure the shots will be great." Joe was about to head for the light-keeper's cottage himself, but Matt's hand gripping his arm stopped him.

"Listen! That boat was back! The one that nearly drowned us yesterday, me and Frank, I mean," Matt continued. He motioned to the water, pointing to where the boat had been before. "It was back, and it was closer than before, and I'll bet it's going to be back again, man. Those guys are up to something, I'm sure of it! They were watching the lighthouse and taking notes."

Joe was listening intently now, frowning and nodding agreement.

"But that's not the best thing!" Matt's grasp tightened. "Joe, you're not gonna believe this, but…but I got a picture of the ghost!"

Joe stared at him, mouth agape. For a moment he waited, anticipating a punch line and a cackle of laughter from Matt, but the other man didn't say anything, merely waited, bright hazel-green eyes fixed on the younger Hardy. "The ghost?"

"Yes!" Matt nodded emphatically. "She was standing right there—" He pointed, indicating where she'd been standing, looking out over the water. "I took more than one shot of her, dude, I'm sure I got her!"

"How do you know it was our ghost, Eckersley? You hadn't seen her. Maybe it was just another tourist!"

Matt shook his head, his hair flopping over his forehead. "Nope! She was no tourist. She was definitely a ghost. Joe, man, she like disappeared! Right in front of me!"

Joe frowned doubtfully. He still wasn't positive that Matt wasn't putting him on, but he was willing to humor his friend for the moment. If he got pictures of the ghost, he got pictures of the ghost…strange as _that_ sounded! "Well, if you say so….Maybe you should get back to the house and develop the film, Matt. Why don't you go ahead and do that, while Vanessa and I finish up here? I'm sure Mom will have dinner ready around six, and she'll want somebody there to eat it. I think Van and I are going to grab a pizza instead, since we're not sure when we'll be done."

Matt's eyes lit up at that suggestion. "Dude, you are so right – and I totally appreciate your mom's home cooking! I'll get that film started – and I'll see you back at the house. Tell Mr. Carter goodbye for me, okay, and thanks for all the stories?" He headed for his pickup, waving a casual hand in farewell as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Vanessa emerged from the light-keeper's cottage just as Joe approached it. "Oh good, there you are. I was wondering if you could continue the interview with Mr. Carter, and use your mini tape recorder. You have it with you, don't you?"

"Sure, I can do that. And the recorder's in the glove compartment; it'll just take me a couple minutes to get it. But what are you going to be doing?"

"Oh good. Please record Mr. Carter's stories; I want them to be exactly correct for the report. I have to run into the lighthouse; I think I left my penlight there. I remember taking it out to read some tiny little numbers on a plaque over there, and I must have laid it down."

Vanessa hurried into the tall structure, switched on the lights, and started up the winding staircase. She was about halfway up when the sound of _descending_ footsteps startled her; to her alarm, a dark figure rushed past her, shoving her roughly aside. Unable to stop herself, the girl tumbled downwards, and landed hard at the bottom of the steps.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, Max2013, and BMSH for your kind commentary on the last chapter.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 19

Joe was rummaging through the glove compartment, looking for his mini-recorder, when he was alerted by a startled cry coming from the lighthouse. Jerking his head up, he was alarmed to see someone – _not_ Vanessa! – rush out of the structure and flee past his parked car, seemingly unaware of his presence. To his consternation, the person dashed towards the cliff side, and dramatically flung himself over the edge!

"WHOA!" Joe scrambled out of the Aztek and started towards the cliff, only to halt in amazement as the mysterious figure suddenly swept into view once more, temporarily buoyed upwards by a parachute. "Wow! BASE-jumping?" He stared, transfixed, as the jumper disappeared once again, dropping towards the sea.

The sudden realization that this person, whoever it was, had probably encountered Vanessa, made Joe turn his attention once more to the lighthouse. Running to it, heedless of his sore leg, he found his girlfriend huddled at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing her ankle. She turned a shocked face to Joe as he dropped down beside her.

"Babe! Are you all right? What happened, anyway?" Joe wrapped an arm about her shoulders, pulling her tight against him.

"I was going up the stairs," Vanessa explained, "when some creep came barreling down, and pushed past. He knocked me down the steps. And he didn't even stop to see if I was okay!"

"He jumped off the cliff," Joe informed her brusquely.

"He WHAT?" Vanessa's blue-gray eyes opened wide at this revelation.

"He had a parachute," Joe elaborated. "Like the ones BASE jumpers use."

"Why in the world…?"

"…would anyone BASE jump into Barmet Bay? You got me. I hope," Joe added, a bit spitefully, "he got a dunking and gets hypothermia." Tenderly, he smoothed Vanessa's hair. "Are you hurt, babe?"

"I think I did something to my ankle," she admitted. "it's really throbbing."

"Let's see…." Very gently, Joe loosened the ties of Vanessa's running shoe, and examined her ankle. "It's already starting to swell; you'd better stay off of it. Come on, let's get you to the car. Lean on my shoulder, babe."

With Vanessa's arm draped across his shoulders and his arm securely about her waist, Joe helped his girlfriend hobble to the Aztek and seat herself. He wished he hadn't sent Matt home; he could have used the other man's assistance at the moment. After making sure Vanessa was situated comfortably, he went to tell Mr. Carter what had occurred, and that he needed to take Vanessa back to town to have her ankle examined.

"I don't need to go to a doctor, Joe," Vanessa protested, when Joe informed her of his intentions. "I'm sure it's not broken. I'd rather just go home; Mom can take care of it okay."

"Aw babe, I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"It'll be fine, trust me. Only – darn, what about my car?"

"We can pick up your Jeep at school tomorrow; we'll work something out." Deciding that Andrea might have better luck getting Vanessa to a hospital or Urgent Care than he would, if she thought it necessary, Joe let himself be convinced, and headed for the Benders' farmhouse.

###

"Heavens, kiddo, what happened to you?" Andrea, in the midst of preparing dinner, stood shocked as Joe half-carried her daughter into the house. "Did you decide to try out for the football team after all?"

"Fell halfway down the lighthouse steps," Vanessa said grimly. "Couch, slave," she directed Joe, who obeyed, chuckling. He eased her down on the family room sofa and arranged a pillow beneath her foot.

"I hate this," Vanessa fretted. "I don't have time for this, I have too much to do!"

"Shhh," Joe soothed her. "I'll get your assignments from your teachers; you need to take care of yourself. Nothing's more important than that. And I'll come visit you lots."

She scowled. "What's this 'I'll come to visit you' stuff? Who says I'm not going to be at school? It'll be fine by tomorrow, you'll see!"

"Uh-huh." Joe sounded unconvinced. "But I'll check with your profs, just in case it's not." He bent and kissed her gently. "I promise to keep you in the loop, Van! And I'm also going to find that creep who knocked you down, and make him pay, big-time!"

"Ah, my hero!" Vanessa smiled, and stroked Joe's cheek, then added fiercely, "You'd better not keep me out of the loop, lover-boy, or I'll kick your butt!"

"What a lovely little lady my daughter is," Andrea observed dryly as she entered the family room carrying several Ziploc bags of ice and some kitchen towels. She efficiently packed them around Vanessa's ankle, supporting them with more pillows. "There you go, kiddo, all set. I'll bring you some dinner."

Vanessa suddenly looked up at Joe with eyes full of sadness. "We didn't get our pizza!"

"Hey, we can get pizza some other time." Joe kissed her again. "I've got to go now. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? And we'll bring your jeep by – not sure who I can get; Frank or Megan, probably."

"Whoever it is, I'll be glad to see them – unless I'm at school already!" Vanessa replied, still sticking to her hopeful theory that she would be back on her feet the next day. She raised her face for one final kiss. "Goodnight, Joe!"

#####

"Hey, little brother!" Frank smiled a welcome from one of the recliner chairs, as Joe entered the family room. "You missed dinner, but there're leftovers in the fridge, I think. Or did you eat with Vanessa?" The smile faded at Joe's wordless growl. "What's wrong?"

"Vanessa got hurt," the younger Hardy said angrily. "Some idiot knocked her halfway down the stairs of the lighthouse, and she twisted her ankle."

"Oh, jeez! What a rotten thing to happen!" his brother commiserated. "Who was it that knocked her down, anyway?"

"I don't know; it was really weird." Now that he thought about it, the weirder it seemed to Joe. "He knocked her down and then ran out and jumped over the cliff, Frank; he was wearing one of those BASE-jumping types of parachutes!"

"Now that's weird," Frank agreed. He could see Joe was more than a little upset at the incident, and didn't blame him; Joe was as protective of Vanessa as Frank was of Megan. "You know, maybe there's really something going on out there at the lighthouse; maybe we should start treating this as a real investigation, instead of just going on with your research project and saying 'oh, isn't that strange!' when all this stuff happens."

"Might not be a bad idea," Joe conceded. He shot a shrewd look at Frank. "If you think you can handle the ghost aspect, that is."

Frank made a face at that. "Speaking of our ghost, Matt came home with a wild tale of getting a shot of her on film – you think he really did?"

"He thinks he did." Joe didn't offer a further opinion.

"I'm not all that sure I want to see a picture of an apparition that's trying her best to kill me," Frank confessed with a wry grin. "And I'm not sure what it would mean if Matt did get pictures of her. But I didn't want to discourage him – he was too jazzed about it. I'd have felt like I was kicking a puppy."

Joe grinned, and Frank knew Joe understood exactly what he meant. Despite Matt's being older than either of them, and out on his own, his naiveté and enthusiasm in regard to detective work made him seem younger at times.

"Right now," Joe said, "I'm not too worried about ghostly appearances – despite the fact that she seems to have a homicidal bent towards you, bro; I figure you can cope with it! I'm more concerned about finding the jerk who knocked Van down, and dealing a little justice. Bad enough that we have a ghost trying to hurt you; when some guy dumps Vanessa down a flight of stairs, that's just too much!"

 _Love your priorities, Joe!_ Frank smiled to himself, but didn't make the comment aloud. "Fortunately, I didn't have any ectoplasmic visitations today," he said. "I found something I'd forgotten about, though – that coin on the chain I picked up in the fireplace where we found the skeleton! I'd stuck it in my pocket and brought it home…well, anyway, I took it down to give to Con Riley." Frank grimaced at the memory. "Con was not very happy about it – I mean, he was glad to get it, but he didn't like the fact that I'd essentially been withholding evidence from the police! But he had to admit it was just as well…it isn't like they can be pursuing the murder of a hundred-year-old skeleton, after all."

"They confirmed the age, then?"

"Uh-huh," Frank nodded. "Forensics determined the age of the bones – about one hundred and ten years, give or take a decade or so. Con said he doubts that they'll do much more about it, given that whoever did it would be long dead too."

Joe gave his brother a long look – one which Frank recognized.

"That's right," the older Hardy said with an answering smile, "that means that we can investigate to our hearts' content. Strictly to keep in practice, of course."

"Of course." Joe leaned against the back of the couch, staring thoughtfully at the floor. "Frank…that coin. Do you suppose there could be anything with the coin….I mean, what if Emily's appearances are tied to the coin? You gave the coin to Con, and she hasn't been back all day…." He looked up at Frank. "You suppose CON'S seen her?"

Frank reached for the lever that controlled the footrest, and elevated it. He stretched his long legs out comfortably, considering Joe's idea with care. Finally, he shrugged. "If he has, that's Con's problem, not ours. As long as Emily stays away from me, I'm happy. I still don't understand why she seems to think I killed her or her boyfriend. Why the heck would she latch onto me as a murderer?"

"You mean other than your obviously sadistic, murderous nature showing through?" his brother teased. "It's the coin!" Joe insisted. "She's connecting the coin with the murder, and you had the coin!"

Frank was about to pursue the subject further, and demand why Joe was so positive about this, when they heard footsteps coming up the basement stairs. In a moment, Matt joined them, looking both sheepish and forlorn.

"Hey, Matt – how're the pictures of the ghost coming along?" Frank asked with a smile.

Matt grimaced, and Joe tried to hide a smile. "Come on down to the darkroom," the young photographer invited, "and take a look for yourselves."

"Okay, I'm game. C'mon, Joe." Frank extricated himself from the recliner and the Hardys followed their friend back down the basement stairs to the little darkroom. A line was strung across the room, with several pictures clipped to it, drying.

"I like this – doing it the traditional way," Matt commented. "Rather do it the hard way than have some one-hour developer make a mess of my negatives! Well, anyway, look here. These are the pictures I took of the girl – the ghost girl."

Matt indicated several of the photos attached to the line. "I swear, guys – I swear she was here. Right here!" He pointed to the spot on the picture. But there was no sign of Emily-the-ghost. There was nothing there, save the cliff edge and the expanse of blue-gray water beyond.

"Dudes…" Matt's voice shook. "She's not there. Not there!"


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, Max 2013 and BMSH for leaving comments on the last chapter.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 20

Frank and Joe exchanged looks over the shorter Matt Eckersley's head. Both were wondering exactly what they should say or do to make him feel better, for obviously Matt was upset about the strange occurrence with his photographs.

Should they try to explain that Emily didn't really exist – that what Frank had been experiencing – well heck, what they'd _all_ been experiencing! – in the past few days had to have some sort of logical explanation…or was it something else? Something supernatural, with a supernatural explanation, not a logical one?

Frank was willing to admit he'd seen Emily. He'd seen her; he'd felt her, he'd heard her speak. And what had happened in that airplane hadn't been…natural. No, not at all.

"You know," Joe began, as if reading his brother's mind, "if she's a ghost, she's supernatural…magic, right? Well, maybe that means that she can't be photographed. Her image can't be captured on film. Maybe it's like vampires – you know, how they can't be seen in a mirror? Maybe she can't be seen in a picture. She was there, you saw her, you took the pictures and you know she was in them…but now she's not there. Does that make sense?"

Matt stared up at Joe, evidently wondering if he should believe the younger man's words or not. "Maybe…" he said at last.

Frank could see Matt _wanted_ to believe Joe's theory, but he could also see that Matt was upset. Disappointed – practically heartbroken at the disappearance of the mysterious girl from his photographs. He'd very much wanted to prove to them that he'd seen her.

"Matt, these are great!" Frank turned his attention to the remaining photos strung along the line. He could see why Matt was a professional photographer; his pictures had depth to them, things that an amateur usually didn't pick up. Like just the right shading of light, or just the right angle, or just the right lens and focus. Anyone might get lucky occasionally and hit one just right – but _all_ of Matt's held that elusive quality. "Joe, look at these!"

"I'm looking, I'm looking." Joe added his praise to Frank's, and Matt's face lost its disappointed cast and gained a pleased blush, instead. "I know we're gonna get an 'A' on the project with this kind of photography! The pictures themselves will get an 'A' no matter what Vanessa and I might write!"

Matt blushed even redder.

"But speaking of the lighthouse," Joe continued more seriously, "we have a crime to investigate! There's definitely something going on out there."

"Which crime?" Matt demanded, immediately intrigued. When Joe related Vanessa's mishap, Matt scowled. He had developed a fondness for Joe's willowy girlfriend, and didn't like the idea of someone hurting her.

"It might be worth staking the place out ourselves," Frank mused. "Obviously there's been a boat hanging around – Matt's got pictures of it, see, Joe?" He indicated the photos. "This is the same one we saw on Sunday afternoon."

Joe examined them closely. One had a clear shot of a man holding binoculars up to his face. Dark hair, short beard – not much else was visible, due to the binoculars' presence. "That's not the guy I saw," he murmured. "At least, I'm pretty sure it's not. I didn't get a good front view, but I did get a pretty good look at his back. This fellow in the picture looks stockier than the one I saw. So let's suppose they're partners, just for the sake of argument. And then there's the lady who wants to have the wedding at the lighthouse – she might be involved, too!"

"You might be stretching it a point, there," Frank cautioned.

Joe shrugged. "It's worth checking, anyway. I could ask Cherise if anyone's talked to her about holding a wedding there…if not, then, well, we'll know."

"It's not quite that easy," his brother reminded him, and Joe stuck his tongue out, grinning.

"Sure it is."

They shut off the lights in the darkroom and tromped back upstairs, where they raided the kitchen for a snack of chips and sodas. Seated around the kitchen table, they formulated a game plan for the following day.

"Okay, after classes we go out to Stone Point and check out the lighthouse again," Joe proposed. "And this time we're going to be more thorough about it."

"I'm going to take a fingerprint kit with me," Frank said thoughtfully. "I realize it wouldn't necessarily mean anything if there were other visitors there, but it's just one way of gathering additional information. And we can ask the caretaker about people who've been there lately. Besides us, I mean."

"Dude, the place was crawling with cops and technicians," Matt objected.

"Well, true," Frank admitted, but I'll probably do it anyway." He grinned briefly. "I like taking fingerprints, remember?"

"I'll give Cherise a call and see what I can find out about weddings," Joe offered. "And somewhere along the way we need to get Van her jeep back. It's parked over at the library on campus. She thought she'd be at school tomorrow, but I don't believe that for a minute!"

"I'll be glad to do that, man – if you don't mind trusting me with the Jeep." Matt lifted a finger to indicate his willingness to volunteer.

"That's fine – I've got a spare set of keys," Joe replied.

"Megan's got some open spots in her schedule; she could probably follow you out and bring you back, Matt. I'll call her," Frank suggested. "I was going to call her anyway," he added, smiling.

Matt nodded agreement. "And the next time I take a picture of that ghost, it's going to stay IN THE SHOT! I'm not finished with that yet, not at all!" he vowed.

Frank and Joe exchanged amused glances, and then, unable to hold out any longer, both burst into laughter.

#####

 _Classes always drag on when there's an interesting case that needs investigating,_ Joe thought as he listened with half an ear to the teacher – who was droning on and on about the exciting [ _exciting? Yeah, right!_ ] government laws being debated by the current state legislature. He wished Dr. Penigruff had taken a few classes in oral dissertation… _this man is so boring, he could curdle milk in five minutes flat!_

Joe rubbed absently at his sore leg, and wished he'd had the sense to take it a little easier at practice that morning. Of course, if he _had_ taken it easier, it probably would have stiffened up more. Either way, he was stuck with a sore calf! At least he could still get around on it…. _Poor Vanessa, she's going to be laid up for four or five days with that ankle, I'll bet!_

The ending buzzer finally sounded, and Joe made his way to the parking lot. Following the now-familiar route, he was soon at Stone Point. He noticed that Frank's car was in the parking lot; they'd beaten him there.

Frank was skulking around the front of the lighthouse, fingerprint kit in hand; evidently dusting prints from the doorway. Matt hovered nearby, watching with absorption. He'd seen Frank do this before, but it still fascinated him.

"Mr. Carter says the place gets dusted and polished once a week, whether it needs it or not," he reported, as Joe neared them. "So any fingerprints Frank finds would be fairly recent." He flashed his engaging grin. "Dude, I get the distinct feeling that Mr. Carter is something of a neat-freak – although you'd never know it to look at him! I'll bet he cleans whether anything needs cleaned, and I'll bet he does it more than once a week! I might be wrong, of course – but if I'm right, that makes our job – well, Frank's job – easier, doesn't it?"

"Possibly," Joe smiled. "Might make it easier, might make it harder."

"I've got a few prints," Frank announced. "But of course, with five of us, Mr. Carter, and Cherise all having been here, plus the cops and techs, I'm not sure they'll do any good." He frowned thoughtfully. "It might be better just to stake out the place and see if anyone shows up!"

"I couldn't get hold of Cherise all day," Joe said, his frown matching his brother's. "The secretary at the Historical Society said she'd been called out of town unexpectedly. Seems her brother was in a car accident, or something like that."

"Hey, that's too bad!" Matt sympathized. "Hope he's okay."

"I did ask the secretary about weddings being scheduled for here," Joe continued his report. "She didn't want to confirm names for me, but she did say that there were three booked for the lighthouse for next summer – two in July and one in August. Do people always book so far ahead?" he added, with some disbelief.

"Oh, you have no idea, dude!" Matt assured him. "A year in advance isn't unusual, believe me!"

"That's right; you'd know, wouldn't you? Well, anyway, we won't be able to find out if our mystery woman is one of those booked weddings until Cherise gets back in town," Joe went on, "and it may be too late by then. The crooks may strike before she gets back!"

As he talked, Joe started circling the lighthouse, searching for signs of anything out of place, looking to see if the grass looked disturbed, or crushed. So far as he could tell, everything looked normal; nothing seemed mashed down. Evidently no one had been back here behind the structure except _him_ , in recent days. Yet…he could see tracks, not his own, leading toward the roadway. Obviously….Joe stopped, mid-thought, and stared down at the ground. _Why does that grass look different…?_ Then he knelt and ran his fingers along a particular section of grass, gently reaching through the damp greenery to pull at a section of turf that seemed to be attached to something….

"FRANK! MATT!" Joe yelled for the others as he kept tugging the grass upwards. Beneath it, he found a square piece of plywood underneath the grass – complete with a small latch that he could pull upward.

Matt and Frank arrived at a fast jog, and peered with great interest at Joe's discovery.

"Wow, I had no idea this was here – did you?" Frank leaned over his brother's shoulder to examine the find.

Joe shook his head as he started lifting the board. "Not a clue. I was just walking along here, and I noticed the dirt felt different – more solid. At first I thought it was rock underneath, but…. Just look at that!" Joe nodded towards the short ladder that descended into what appeared to be some sort of shaft.

"You found it, bro, you get the honor of leading the way!" Frank gestured towards the hole.

"Gee, thanks; I feel so special!" Joe took out his penlight and flicked it on before he began clambering down the ladder. Frank motioned for Matt to go next, putting him between himself and Joe, and finally he followed the other two, feeling a little like Alice diving down a rabbit hole to Wonderland.

"It's not too deep," came Joe's voice, and the next moment they found themselves on another dirt floor perhaps ten feet below the ground. A crude doorway led into a cramped corridor, which even Matt had to stoop to traverse, which led in turn to a small room, possibly eight-by-eight, paneled in wood.

"Wow," Joe murmured reverently as he looked around. The small room wasn't exactly furnished, but it wasn't quite empty, either. It contained a single chair, an armoire, and a large, extremely fascinating, grand-looking trunk.

"Do you suppose this was some sort of storm cellar, or something like that?" Joe queried. "It looks like nobody's been down here for years and years – maybe longer than that!" Indeed, it felt musty and unused, it smelled old, and Joe felt his eyes watering slightly from the dust. Still…he liked it here. He liked it a lot! It was exciting!

"I'll go get a bigger flashlight," Frank offered now, and turned to retrace his steps to the ladder.

"I want to get my camera!" Matt chimed in, wheeling about to follow Frank. "I've GOT to get pictures of this, man! It's like, RADICAL, ya know? It's like finding a whole new piece of history!" They hurried out, leaving Joe to guard and investigate the room further.

 _This is so cool,_ he exulted, bending over to lever open the old trunk. _What a find!_ Inside, he discovered items of clothing, old-fashioned clothing; mostly girls' dresses. Carefully, he laid them aside and turned again to further investigate the trunk's contents.

 _"Those are MINE!"_ a voice hissed from behind him.

Gulping down a yelp of surprise, Joe spun about – and somehow, was not terribly surprised to see Emily standing there, watching him with an expression of extreme hatred. Instinctively, the younger Hardy extended a hand, as if to ward her off.

"I'm not hurting them," he said, in the most conciliatory tone he could muster. "I was just looking around. I promise I'll put them back."

 _"You're protecting HIM!"_ the girl…ghost?…hissed malevolently at him.

Joe swallowed. "Of course I'm protecting him – he's my brother. He didn't kill you, Emily – or your friend. He wasn't even alive back then. Don't you know how long it's been?"

 _"LIAR!"_ she screamed – a chilling banshee-wail of sound. _"Liar! Just like him! Deceiver! Foul sorcerer!"_

Joe felt the air begin to dissipate around him, and he gasped, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. He stumbled backwards, attempting to put more distance between himself and this threatening creature.

 _"Die…"_ Emily whispered – and her whisper was even more chilling than the scream had been. _"You have to die, for protecting him. He's a murderer, and if you protect him, you deserve the same fate!"_

The strange wind picked up, sending dust flying, swirling about Joe and making him feel as if he was suffocating. It pushed at him, making him move farther back. He encountered the trunk, feeling his knees impact against it – and Joe stumbled and tripped, then fell backwards…right into the open chest!

Before he knew what was happening, the trunk lid swung closed with a _thump_ , and the hasp snicked shut, leaving Joe encased within. And moments later, as the air disappeared, Joe found the darkness begin to close in….


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you for the feedback, Cherylann.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 21

"Now this, dude, is the part I like about investigating, you know? Secret rooms – secret passages, hidden accesses….Much better than the 'fall off the cliff, fall into the ocean, get kidnapped' thing that's been happening all too often!" Matt grinned happily at Frank as they set out for the parking lot.

Frank returned the smile. He did love Matt's enthusiasm!

"I can't believe how Joe found that door! I mean, even if I walked over it, there's no way I would have noticed anything odd about it, you know? And Joe's like, wham! there it is! How did he do that, anyway?" Without waiting for a reply, Matt chattered on: "How long do you think that room's been there, unused, just WAITING for one of us to come and find it? Waiting to reveal its secrets, man! This is like radical, dude; isn't it just about the most exciting thing that's ever happened to you, Frank?"

Frank chuckled. "It's pretty exciting, Matt, yeah." He tried to keep his laughter within bounds; he was having a hard time keeping from falling to the ground in hysterics. Matt was such fun – you'd never know the guy was four years older than Frank himself…he was such an adrenaline junkie!

"What do you think we'll find in there, anyway? HEY, do you think maybe that that's where the missing jewels are hidden? Maybe that's why the room was hidden in the first place, to hide the 'cursed' jewels! Oh, dude, do you think maybe we should get a shovel, too, as well as the flashlight? What if they're buried in the floor, or something?!"

At that point, Frank simply lost it. He couldn't hold back any longer. He burst into laughter – loud, unrestrained whoops of laughter.

Matt glared for a moment, flushing – and then reluctantly began laughing too. "All right, okay, I guess I did sound pretty crazy, didn't I?" He whapped the younger man on the shoulder lightly. "Give me a break, man! This is new to me, remember? It's just so exciting!"

Frank managed to get himself under control, and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. "It's exciting for us, too, Matt. Really, Joe and I don't find hidden rooms all that often – it's pretty special when we do. I'm sorry…" he broke off to chuckle again. "And you could be right, you know…maybe that is where the jewels are hidden; it would be a logical place to look, anyway. Although I suspect it's just the remains of a storm cellar that ended up as a furniture storage area. That would make quite a find for us, huh?" He opened his car and removed a large flashlight, snapping it on briefly to make sure the batteries were okay.

Matt grabbed one of his cameras from the back seat, and checked the flash, then pulled the strap over his head to leave his hands free. "Okay, let's go!" He followed Frank back to the mysterious hole in the ground.

Except that, when they returned to the site, there was no sign of a hole in the turf. The ground was even; the grass was in place, looking as if it had never been disturbed!

"Dude, where'd it go?" Matt stared around in confusion. "How did it get closed up again?"

Frank frowned. "I can't imagine…Joe? JOE!" he yelled, suddenly. "Maybe Joe came up already, but if he did, where'd he go? JOE!"

There was no reply.

"This is really spooky," Matt whispered. "What if those guys came back while we were gone, Frank – and did something to Joe?"

"We would have seen or heard something," Frank assured him – trying to reassure himself at the same time. He knelt down, searching for the hidden edges of the turf-covered board. When it swung open, Frank scrambled for the ladder, closely followed by Matt. They dropped onto the hard-packed dirt at the bottom of the ladder, and Frank switched on his powerful flashlight. "Joe? You here?" Hearing no answer, he set out down the cramped passageway with Matt tight on his heels.

The small room at the end of the corridor was empty save for the furnishings – no sign of Joe anywhere. The trunk was closed, its hasp still in place; the armoire was shut, and no one occupied the chair. Frank scanned the room carefully; he could see no other way in or out of it, except for the door they'd entered by.

"Joe?"

They continued to stand there, looking around, but there seemed to be no sign of Joe. It was as if he'd simply vanished into thin air. Frank began to get an extremely unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed nervously. He could hear Matt's tense breathing beside him; sounding loud in the underground room. What if Matt was right, and someone _had_ managed to kidnap Joe in that short span of time when they were gone? "Maybe we should check outside again."

"Okay, dude."

They turned to leave the room, Matt in the lead. Just as Frank was exiting, he heard something behind him that made him stop in his tracks: a soft bumping, thumping sound. He whirled around.

"Joe?"

Silence again, for a few moments, but Frank wasn't about to leave, now. He waited tensely, and at last was rewarded by another thump – this one much lighter than the first. _Tap…tap._ And the elder Hardy knew now that the sound was coming from the trunk!

"Matt, give me a hand here!" Setting the flashlight down, Frank knelt in front of the trunk, pulling his knife from his pocket. He pried at the hasp, then he and Matt together yanked hard on the lid, prying it up and flinging it backwards against the wall.

"Oh my God." Matt's voice was hushed with shock. Inside the container huddled the figure of Joe Hardy, eyes closed, barely breathing.

"Joe! What happened? God – Matt, let's get him out of there, right now!" Together, Frank and Matt lifted Joe from the trunk and laid him on the floor.

Joe was ashen-faced, obvious even in the dim light, and shaking; his breath coming in shallow, uneven pants. He tried to take in a deeper breath, and gagged, beginning to choke.

"Come on, we've got to get him out of here!" Frank said sharply. "He needs to be up where there's more air!" He dragged Joe's arm across his shoulder and heaved his brother to his feet, half-carrying him down the cramped little passageway to the ladder. It took both Matt and Frank to get Joe up that ladder and out into the fresh air, where they stretched him on the grass, and then waited anxiously.

Joe lay still for a few moments, dragging in sharp, gasping breaths. He was still shaking; holding desperately onto the ground, digging his fingers tightly into the turf beneath him, as though he was afraid of falling...or being dragged away. Frank knelt beside him, watching him closely; unsure what he could do to help, other than let Joe catch his breath. Matt hovered behind Frank's shoulder, his eyes wide and startled in his thin face.

"Take it easy, bro," Frank murmured, patting Joe's shoulder gently. "You're safe now; it's okay."

Joe opened his eyes briefly, and managed a smile for his brother, but he didn't attempt to speak yet. It was obvious that he was exhausted from his ordeal.

Frank waited, outwardly patient, but inwardly frantic to know what had occurred. "Joe, who did this to you?" he asked, at last.

Joe coughed a few times, and finally sat up, clutching at Frank's shoulder for support. "Em-emily," he grated.

"EMILY!?"

"Yeah, but – Frank, I really don't want to talk about it right now, okay? I just want to go home…I'm really wiped. I promise, I'll tell you guys all about it when I'm feeling a little better….Just – let's just wait, for now." Joe looked up at the somber-faced Matt. "Matt, could you drive my car home? I don't feel up to it, right now."

"Sure, man – no problem."

"Joe, you sure you wouldn't like us to take you to the hospital?" Frank suggested gently.

"No, no, no hospital." The younger Hardy shook his head adamantly. "I'll be fine; I've got my breath back now, and I just need to get away from this place for awhile, okay?" Seeing Frank's worried face, Joe managed another shaky smile. "Okay, okay, I'll explain a little bit. Look, here's the gist of it: Our friendly neighborhood ghost locked me in the trunk, and I was pretty sure I was going to suffocate before you found me – and right now, I'd just like to forget about it for a little while…okay?"

"Well – if you're sure you don't want to see a doctor." Frank helped Joe to stand, and guided him towards the parking lot, with Matt on Joe's other side. He was still worried, but the fact that Joe was breathing normally now, and seemed steady on his feet, was encouraging. He eased his brother into the passenger seat of the Saturn, and waited while Joe fished out his keys for Matt. "See you back at the house, Matt."

"Right, dude. I promise not to wreck that little beast on the way home!" Matt flashed a tentative smile, and headed for the Aztek.

###

"Frank – let's not mention this to Mom, okay?" Joe had been quiet for most of the trip, but now he spoke, eyeing his older brother as they neared their home.

"I don't see how we can just totally ignore the fact that you were nearly suffocated, doofus," Frank scoffed. "I'm willing to downplay it, if you insist, but she's going to know something's up; to be quite candid, bro, you've looked better!"

"Yeah, well, maybe so, but I know one thing for certain; we are not going to tell her that a ghost shut me in a trunk!" Joe huffed. "For one thing, it's kinda embarrassing, and for another, I don't want to scare her with ghost stories…even if I thought she'd believe it!"

"You can't have it both ways," Frank argued. "Either you'd scare her with the tale that a murderous ghost locked you in a trunk, or she wouldn't believe you, and therefore wouldn't be scared."

"So we leave the ghost out of it, and downplay the rest," Joe said, with finality.

###

"You were WHAT?" Laura frowned at her younger son with frustrated concern. "Locked in a trunk underground? Joe, for heaven's sake…are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm good, Mom. Really." Joe hugged her. "Just kinda tired, that's all." He tried for a grin. "Don't you think Frank would have hauled me off to the hospital if he'd thought there was anything seriously wrong with me?"

She didn't look convinced. "He would unless you talked him out of it."

Frank cleared his throat. "I'm right here, you know…you don't need to talk about me like I'm somewhere else—"

Laura laughed a little, although concern still warred with humor in her eyes. "I really wish you – both of you – all three of you," she added, including Matt in her stern glance, "would be more careful when you go poking around in old cellars and places like that!"

"Mom, jeez, we're not babies, come on!" Joe flushed.

"I didn't say you were babies, I just said to be careful," Laura admonished. "Now, that being said, come and have dinner; it's all ready."

After dinner, Matt went down to the basement to gather up his photos from the night before, and announced that while he was down there, he intended to call Macey after she finished the night's performance in London. "So don't expect me back up here for awhile, you guys – I've got serious cell phone minutes to use up, here!"

Joe, admitting that he was still feeling pretty tired, trudged upstairs to his room. He had homework to do, though he wasn't sure what sort of job he could do on it; still, he was obliged to make the attempt. He settled himself on his bed, propped up against the headboard, and opened a textbook. He heard Frank talking on the phone in his own room – probably to Megan, Joe surmised – which reminded him that he needed to call Vanessa. _But how do I tell her about what happened? I told her I'd keep her in the loop, but this is a loop I'm not sure I want her involved with!_

Before he could bring himself to make the call, Frank appeared in the doorway.

"Think we better talk this over before it gets any later, bro," he suggested. "Tell me what happened, okay?"

Joe heaved an exasperated sigh and set down his book, realizing he couldn't put it off any longer. "Okay. Well, you and Matt left, and I opened the trunk. There were old-fashioned clothes in it, girls' clothes, and I took some of them out…." He paused. "Were they out when you found me?"

"No." Frank shook his dark head. "It was just like it was when we first found the room."

"Odd…okay, well, after I took out the clothes, Emily showed up. She said 'those are mine,' and I tried to assure her that I wasn't going to hurt them, and I'd put them back. But she was seriously pissed—"

"Because you took her clothes out of the trunk?"

"No…sheesh, give me a chance to tell you, huh? She was mad because she said I was 'protecting the deceiver' – namely, YOU, Frank! She said since I was protecting you, that I'd have to pay the same price you did."

"I'm gonna be shut in a trunk?"

Joe made a stifled sound of frustration, then chuckled a little, realizing that Frank was making these comments in an attempt to lessen the tension of the moment. "She may have other plans for you; she didn't get specific. Frank, if this…person…is a ghost, she's an insane ghost! She's definitely a few slices short of a loaf!"

"Nobody ever said a ghost had to be rational, I guess," Frank mused, smiling. "I'll say this, she's sure determined!" He sobered. "Joe, we almost lost you today! If Matt and I had been a little slower….How the heck do we stop a ghost, anyway?" he demanded. "What am I supposed to do, give myself to Emily and let her kill me, to keep her from hurting anyone associated with me, or something?"

Joe glared at him. "Now who's shy a few nuggets in his Happy Meal? There's no way I'm letting you sacrifice yourself, so you can just stop that nonsense right now! In fact, if you mention it again, I'm gonna smack you!"

Frank looked a little taken aback at that, and paused before he answered. Then, finally, he murmured, "Joe, we're talking about her and thinking about her like Emily's a real person."

"Yeah. I know." Joe sighed. "We are. Face it, Frank, she's real. She's real and she's got power. She's nearly killed both of us, you more than once!"

"Ghosts," Frank whispered. "There just can't be….But there is."

Joe nodded silently.

Footsteps on the stairs alerted them to Matt's presence, and a few seconds later, the young man poked his head around the doorjamb into Joe's room. "Guys? I'm beat – think I'll hit the sack."

"Did you get to talk to Macey?" Frank inquired, with a grin.

"Oh yeah—" Matt's beatific smile was swallowed up on a yawn. "Hey—" he added, "you'll tell me tomorrow what happened at the lighthouse, won't you?" He gave the brothers a shrewd look. "I know you were discussing it, dudes."

"Promise," Joe assured him. "We didn't mean to exclude you, Matt, really. I'll catch you up on everything tomorrow. Goodnight – See you in the morning."

#####

 _"Murderer…."_

 _Frank opened his eyes and looked around, brown eyes gazing intently at the woman who stood before him. Emily…dressed in a gown of silvery white, with her pale hair done up on her head. She looked more queenly than she had at any other time he had seen her. Frank swallowed nervously as he watched her._

 _"I_ _didn't_ _," he averred, trying to get her attention, to_ _make_ _her hear what he was saying. "I wasn't even alive then. I don't know you. I found the coin."_

 _"Liar!" The ethereal figure moved towards him, her hand outstretched. Frank felt something drop onto his head and slither downwards about his body, something silvery and soft, that he couldn't seem to shake away. He gulped again, feeling whatever it was begin to tighten about him, to grow and wrap about him, holding him motionless._

 _Emily smiled sweetly as she neared him; Frank felt a gentle caress fall on his cheek, and closed his eyes as cold lips touched his own._

 _"Why don't you remember me, Elliott?" she whispered. "It's Emily…your 'sweet Emily.' I haven't forgotten. I will never forget!"_

 _The soft, silvery ribbons tightened even further about Frank, wrapping him cocoon-like in unyielding, inexorable bonds._

 _"You insisted you loved me, wanted me, would have me, whether I would or no," the soft voice chanted. He felt the cool hand move down his cheek to touch his lips. "You loved me to DEATH,_ _dearest_ _Elliott! And now, I'll love you, too…."_

 _Frank opened his eyes, desperately trying to summon the words to argue with this implacable presence, to convince her of his innocence. But before he could make the attempt, she leaned forward, hovering in the air before him, and kissed him again – oh, those cold lips!_

 _"I will love_ _you_ _to death, as well."_

 _The cords constricted, cutting off all circulation in his body, all ability to breathe, all ability to think coherently. Frank let out a strangled cry as he struggled against the constraints which held him immobile – one final gasp before he fell back, and was enveloped by the darknes_ _s._


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH and Max2013, for the feedback.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 22

"Frank…Frank? Come on, honey, you need to wake up. Frank, wake up. You're all tangled up in your sheets….c'mon now, wake up."

The voice was soft, but insistent, and it seemed to tug at the bonds which held him bound so tightly; to unravel them just the slightest bit. Frank struggled against them, trying to draw in breaths, trying to free himself from the silken ties, trying to cut through the fog in his mind. Still hearing Emily's taunting laughter, through the insistent voice. _'Dear Elliott'….Elliott? Who is Elliott?_

"Frank." The persistent voice was fiercer now. "Frank, listen to me. You need to wake up now."

The voice was familiar, and it enticed Frank, but it was so hard to follow the instructions. _This isn't Emily…this is someone I know. Nicer than Emily…safe. She's safe…._

"Mom?" Frank's voice was low and raspy as his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked hazily up at the woman beside him.

Laura was standing close beside the bed, tugging at the blankets encasing her elder son. She'd never seen Frank so wrapped up in his bed coverings before; he was ordinarily a very neat sleeper, not prone to tossing and turning. "Honey, you're all tangled up – you need to get yourself untangled, here. Did you have a bad dream, or something?"

"Uh…something like that, I guess. I don't really remember," Frank dodged the question. He tried to ignore the cold voice he could still hear in his head. He knew for a fact that he wasn't likely to ever forget that particular dream, or the chilling feeling of…death. Had he really come so close to dying, before his mother had come to rescue him? Now there was a scary thought!

"It must have been a doozy," Mrs. Hardy commented, still tugging at the twisted blankets. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Frank added his struggles to Laura's efforts. He managed to get one arm free, and used that to unwind the blankets and sheet. With a shudder, he kicked the blanket off the end of the bed _. I may never sleep using a blanket again! Hell, I may never_ _sleep_ _again!_ He sat up and rubbed his head for a moment, then touched his cheek, feeling Emily's caress there. He rubbed at his lips, remembering her kiss – and shuddered, closing his eyes. The kiss had been so cold – like touching ice.

 _She really meant it, this time. She meant to kill me…and she almost succeeded! Or was it – was it just a really, really bad dream?_

"Frank?" Drawn back to the present, Frank opened his eyes and looked at his mother, who had seated herself on the edge of the bed beside him. Her blue eyes were full of loving concern. "What's wrong? Do you want to talk about it?"

Frank managed a smile. "Nah, thanks Mom, but I'm okay. I guess I just freaked out a little, not being able to move. I'm fine. Thanks for coming to help. How'd you know? Was I yelling in my sleep, or something?"

Laura nodded. "Talking, more than yelling, but enough to wake me up."

"I'm sorry." Frank reached to hug her briefly. "You should go back to bed. I think I'm going to do downstairs and get a glass of milk, or something."

 _No way am I going back to sleep tonight! No way. No how. In fact, sleep may become a lost art, as far as I'm concerned!_ Frank could see that Laura was still worried, but he summoned another smile. "I'm okay, Mom; really. People have nightmares all the time and manage to survive; I will too. I'm just going to get a glass of milk and relax and then go back to bed." _I'm not lying to her,_ he reasoned. _I'll go back to bed. I just won't go back to_ _sleep_ _!_

"All right, if you're sure. Goodnight, sweetie." Laura leaned to kiss her son's forehead, then stood up and exited the room.

For a long time, Frank didn't move to get up; instead, he sat on the edge of his bed and tried to figure out what had just happened. He'd had a dream…he knew it was a dream…but it was _real_. The question was, was the dream prompted by him getting tangled up in the blankets, and thinking he was being slowly strangled…or had Emily been the malevolent cause of him getting tangled up in the blankets?

 _Damned ghost is making me insane,_ he thought. _Totally insane. She's insane, and she's making me crazy too. I'm going to be blaming her for everything, now!_

Sighing, he got up and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen, making an attempt to keep quiet and not disturb his mother again, or Joe or Matt. _No sense in everyone losing sleep just because Frank Hardy is taking up a career as an insomniac, after all…._ Joe usually awoke when things were amiss with Frank; he was sleeping hard tonight – Matt, too.

Well, it wasn't odd that Joe should sleep soundly; he'd nearly been killed too – by the same vicious spirit!

 _Elliott._ As Frank got out the milk carton and poured himself a small glass, he remembered the name. He sat down at the table and closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember. He didn't _want_ to remember – but what if this was a key to solving the puzzle of Emily? A clue. Elliott – obviously this was the name of whoever had killed Emily…and her boyfriend. Frank shook his head. The boyfriend…who was the boyfriend, and where was he? Had he really been killed too? _Emily_ seemed certain of it. _Yes, Frank, but Emily is certain that_ _you_ _killed her, too. Just how reliable is Emily, after all? She's a damned GHOST!_

Frank sighed and took a sip of milk. There he went again – thinking of Emily as a real person. _Like she exists_. And he didn't want to admit that she did exist…or had existed, once upon a time. Too many scary things in that direction.

Eyelids drooping, he pulled a spoon from a drawer and began to stir his milk, as he had when he was a kid. _Clink…clink…_ the soft sound was soothing in its familiarity. He pulled the spoon out, and sucked the milk off, half-closing his eyes. He nearly tumbled off the chair as he started to doze off again….

#####

Joe meditatively dragged a French fry through a pool of ketchup and took a bite. _Elliott…._ He didn't know any Elliotts; it was a sort of old-fashioned name. And he wasn't up on Bayport's past history enough to recognize a name, although something about it sounded a little familiar. He'd have to read some really old books to find out why; it obviously wasn't someone on his radar.

 _But we need to find out, and fast,_ he reminded himself, recalling Frank's haggard face this morning at breakfast. The poor guy looked as if he hadn't slept much, and indeed, Frank admitted that that was the case. The dream had really bothered him, and who could blame him? Joe and Matt, although horrified and sympathetic, couldn't do anything to reassure him – how do you protect someone from his own dreams, after all?

 _Maybe Vanessa can come up with something,_ Joe mused, absently chewing on his fries as he continued his musings. _Since she can't do much else at the moment._ She'd sounded okay when they talked, earlier that morning – in fact, she'd sounded downright chipper! She'd mentioned she was going to work on some art projects for Andrea, since she was going to be home, and said she intended to get a start on writing the history of Stone Point lighthouse, for their project.

Of course, she'd been appalled when Joe told her about yesterday's occurrences, and brought her up to date regarding Frank's strange visitations – although he'd tried to gloss over the worst of it – but she was anxious to help, in any way she could. She'd promised to do some checking on the Internet, for any mention of Elliotts in historical Bayport.

 _"Maybe Elliott will end up figuring big in our research, Joe,"_ she'd suggested. _"If we could solve Emily's murder, we could include that as a part of the history of the lighthouse!"_

Joe had to admit, that sounded like a very good idea – nothing like combining detective work with schoolwork, to raise a grade! _A mystery solved just for a report? Well, not quite, but…._

Joe heaved a satisfied sigh as he chugged down a gulp of bottled water. Only one more class, and then he was done for the day. Outta there! Free to go investigate the bad guys – or chase ghosts….

He jumped a little as the ringing of his cell phone cut into his ruminations; he'd been lost in thought. Flipping it open, he smiled at the readout, and answered: "Hey, beautiful! How're you feeling? Ankle any better?"

Vanessa sounded excited. _"It's okay. I should be back on two feet soon. Joe, I was doing some research, like I said I would…and I've come up with something I think is interesting."_

Joe sat up straight, all thoughts of lunch forgotten. "What did you find? Something about our mysterious Elliott?"

 _"You're reading my mind,"_ Vanessa laughed _. "Yes, something about Elliott, and something interesting…I think. Listen, Joe, I'm going to e-mail a picture to Frank's computer, and I want you guys to look at as soon as possible. I think it will explain why Emily is fixated on Frank."_

"Really? C'mon, spill, babe!"

 _"Emily's Elliott is – I believe – Elliott Pembroke. He was alive back in the nineteenth century, when Emily was, and he definitely has a tie-in with Stone Point Lighthouse!"_

"What sort of tie-in?" Joe snapped.

 _"Well, he provided part of the funding to have it built, originally, for one thing. He was also the mayor of Bayport, later on. I've found a few articles about him in the archives of the old Bayport News – generally, a few town ordinances that were proposed by him when he was in office, and also he's mentioned as attending a few parties. Society stuff."_

"So that explains who Elliott is – but what's the connection with Elliott Pembroke and Frank, for Pete's sake? Or why Emily's got this compulsion to off my brother!" _And me_ , Joe said to himself, but didn't say that out loud.

Vanessa was silent for a moment.

"Babe? You still there?"

 _"Yes, I'm here. Joe—"_ she sighed, _"you'll see it when you see the picture, but here's what it comes down to: Frank and Elliott Pembroke look alike! If they'd been alive at the same time, they could be brothers…twins, even!"_

"Whoa!" Joe was stunned. He was positive they didn't have any familial ties to Elliott Pembroke – after all, the Hardys weren't from Bayport originally; they'd moved here when he and Frank were little!

 _"You see, Joe? Emily thinks Frank IS Elliott Pembroke! And she's come back for revenge. Somehow, we have to convince her that he's_ _not_ _– or she'll kill him!"_


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you to Cherylann, Sarai, Iheartninja2010 and Max2013 for the feedback/comments. Much appreciated!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 23

"I'm a WHAT?"

Frank Hardy was astounded – and disbelieving. He stared at his younger brother as if he saw horns sprouting from the blonde waves. Indeed, he might have been less surprised if he _had_ seen Joe had grown horns.

Joe had been waiting for him outside his last class, and the younger Hardy had pounced on his elder brother and started talking immediately. Frank, mesmerized by what Joe was saying, found himself trotting along towards Joe's next class, heedless of where _his_ next class might be! He halted their progress for a moment, though, to stare at Joe, then shook his head and started on again. "I'm a dead ringer – by the way, I don't like that term in this context! – for this Elliott Pembroke guy?"

Joe nodded vigorously. "According to Vanessa, you look enough like this Pembroke to be his twin brother. She figures that Emily fixated on you because of that. Or – well, it might be the coin on the chain. If that's what brought her back, so to speak, and it belonged to Pembroke and he's the one who killed her…well, it might have been the last thing she saw!"

Joe paused on the sidewalk and swung his backpack around to reach inside. "I had Van send this to a library computer, and I printed it out there; I didn't want to take time to run home and get it off yours. Look at this!" He shoved a sheet of paper at Frank, a black-and-white copy of an old newspaper photo, evidently. The picture was grainy and old-fashioned, but it clearly showed a young man with handsome, chiseled features, dark hair, and dark eyes. A man who, taking into account differing styles of dress and hair, was a mirror image of the elder Hardy brother.

Frank frowned, staring down at the picture. He could see the resemblance, easily. "I look more like Elliott Pembroke than I do like Dad," he breathed. "If this is the guy who killed Emily, then no wonder she's coming after me! I didn't know ghosts could get confused by appearances, but…well, heck! What are we going to do about THIS?"

"I've no clue," Joe admitted. "My persuasion skills seem to have fallen flat when it comes to that witch!"

"Ghost, not witch."

Joe snorted. "She may be a ghost, but she's got witchy tendencies all the same."

"Well, she was murdered. She has a right to feel a little put-upon. We just have to figure out some way to convince her that it wasn't ME who did it!" Frank's dark eyes twinkled a little; this idiotic conversation with Joe was inexplicably making him feel better. "Okay," he continued, taking a deep breath. "We may have solved the puzzle of who murdered Emily, but that doesn't help at all in the mystery of the people staking out the lighthouse. I'm sure they didn't have anything to do with it! We should definitely get back out there later today and see if we can pick up some more clues about that."

"Ideally, they'd be there when we arrived," Joe grinned.

"You know, I don't like the fact that Cherise is suddenly out of town, when there's a very good possibility that people are going to be trying to rip off the lighthouse," Frank commented somberly, as they walked into the Science building, where Joe's next class was located.

"What…do you think she was lured out of town on a pretext, to leave the lighthouse more vulnerable?" Joe queried. "Or – aw jeez, Frank, you don't suppose she's in on it, do you? And left on purpose?"

Frank shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know what I think, right now; I just know that it seems awfully suspicious. I'd feel better if we could actually confirm that she was called out of town."

"I wonder if there's some way we could check?" Joe pondered the question. "Maybe we could call the Historical Society again, and get Cherise's home address…." He heaved a doubtful sigh. "They probably wouldn't give out that information, though. Why didn't we get it from her before?"

"You sure you didn't? She might have given it to Vanessa, you know. And if worst comes to worst, we could have Megan try calling and asking for it; people always trust her," Frank added, grinning a little.

"Van may have it, true. Or at least a home telephone number, and we could work backwards from that." Joe sounded a little more hopeful. "I'll ask her."

They parted ways at Joe's classroom door, and Frank walked to his own class – knowing he was going to be late, but unable to care a great deal. He had a larger problem to solve…just how to convince Emily that his name was NOT Elliott Pembroke!

#####

 _It shouldn't be so hard to find your way around a community college campus!_ Matt Eckersley fumed to himself, as he turned around and backtracked yet another time. Intending to meet up with Frank and Joe after their last classes, he'd figured he had plenty of time – but now he was late, and getting later, for he kept becoming lost in the labyrinth of streets and walkways which mysteriously ended in parking lots he didn't want, or smack up against buildings. The directions Frank had left him earlier in the day had _looked_ simple enough, but obviously Matt's skills at navigating anything other than the streets of New York City were lacking!

 _I used to be able to get around in L.A. just fine! Like it was my own back yard…well, duh, it_ _was_ _my own back yard. And I don't have any trouble with New York! Maybe it's a small town thing….Maybe I should have taken that left turn in Albuquerque!_ He grinned, remembering the quote from favorite Bugs Bunny cartoons, when he was growing up. _Okay, admit it, Eckersley – not just growing up_ – his favorite now, too. He always watched Bugs Bunny.

 _THERE it is!_ Finally spotting a small sign which read 'Student Union,' Matt parked in the nearest lot and hastened towards their meeting place. So, he was twenty minutes late. At least he hadn't gotten hopelessly lost and had to call Frank or Joe for help. He saw the two of them lounging near the entrance doors to the building, grinning teasingly at him.

"Uh – hey, dudes." Matt tried on a sheepish grin of his own. "Sorry I'm late, I like got really turned around – took a wrong turn somewhere, and it took me awhile to find my way back. So, what's up?"

"That's what we're going to talk about," Frank informed him. "Come on, Joe's car has the most interior room, and we don't want to talk where we might be overheard, even here. So let's go sit in his car while we do this."

They went to the Aztek and settled in; Joe in the front passenger seat, turned to face Matt and Frank behind him.

"We've got a feeling, Matt, that someone's going to rob the lighthouse," he began. "Well, we sort of wondered about that before, but we're getting more and more convinced about it. We're not sure if it's someone after the lens – which weighs a ton, and would be almost impossible to steal, admittedly…or after those lost jewels – which, of course, no one has been able to find, for decades!"

"Okay…." Matt waited for further enlightenment.

"So here's what we're going to do…."

#####

"Frank, you going to be okay?" Joe voiced the question quietly. He was worried about his older brother, more worried than he cared to admit. After outlining his plans for investigating the lighthouse to Joe and Matt, Frank had been abnormally silent. _Not that he's ever a chatterbox,_ Joe admitted to himself, _but he's quiet even for Frank._ After their talk, Frank had excused himself, saying he wanted to make a phone call - to Megan.

 _Psyching himself up_ , Joe thought. _Steeling himself for the 'battle' he's expecting to come. Checking in with Megan beforehand...just in case._ Usually, Frank ended a conversation with Megan looking happy and relaxed, but not this time. This time, although he smiled automatically at Joe, it looked definitely forced. "Is everything okay with Megan?"

Frank nodded reassuringly. "Megan's fine. Sorry – it's just…the dream. I can't seem to shake the feeling I'm being watched all the time."

Joe grinned encouragingly. "You're just getting paranoid in your old age, big brother. Your birthday's coming up, and you know what happens to people when they get older…paranoia becomes rampant after the age of twenty—" he ducked, just in case Frank decided to swat him. But Frank didn't make the effort.

" 'Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't out to get you,' " Frank quoted softly. But he summoned up a wan smile, to Joe's relief. He was glad to see his attempt at humor was at least a _little_ bit appreciated!

"Seriously, bro, I'm a little freaked too," Joe admitted, sobering. "Emily's not just after you anymore – although you're still her main target, I think – she's also after me…and by extension, Matt. And I don't like it all that much!" He glanced over to where Matt waited, lounging against his pickup. Matt had been very polite about accepting the Hardys' frequent private discussions, Joe thought. He wondered if they were being very fair to young Mr. Eckersley, not mentioning – or at any rate, not _emphasizing_! – the fact that Emily was extending her homicidal hatred to anyone associated with Frank! "Frank….Hey, you sure about this? You want to pull the investigation off?" he queried. "Or Matt and I could go alone, and—"

"No." Frank shook his head firmly. "It's one thing to be paranoid; it's something else to give in to it, and I'm not going to. I am going with you to Stone Point, and we are going to figure out what's going on, and who's trying to rip off the lighthouse, if that's what they're trying to do. If Emily shows up – again – I'll just have to survive the experience. And," he added dryly, "try to convince her that she's got the wrong person. There must be some way to convince her. I'll think of it when I've got the chance."

Joe eyed him dubiously. "Riiiiight. Well, whatever." He motioned towards the Aztek, and beckoned to Matt. "Let's go."

###

As they drove towards Stone Point, Joe watched Matt surreptitiously as the other young man sat in the front passenger seat, fidgeting with the camera strap about his neck, his nerves obvious. Matt wasn't Matt any more than Frank was Frank, right now, Joe mused. All the bounce and sparkle and enthusiasm had been leached away, and Matt was quiet and grimly determined. _Am I acting differently myself?_ If he'd considered mentioning the 'Emily factor' to Matt, to add to the potential dangers of meeting up with the strangers who kept hanging around Stone Point, Joe continued his thoughts, he sure wasn't going to _now!_ Matt had enough on his mind without bringing Emily back into the equation! _I'll just have to hope that nothing bad happens and Emily keeps her distance while we try to figure out who the 'watchers' are!_

"You know, Eckersley, we've got it easy," Joe said aloud. "Frank's plan might be a little nerve-wracking, but really, only for him. He's the only one at risk." He twisted his head around and looked into the back, where the only sign of his brother was the suspiciously lumpy-looking blanket on the floor behind the front seats.

"Suppose you're right, dude."

They were silent once more, as Joe drove towards the lighthouse. "I wonder where I can park, to make this work?" the younger Hardy said, at last. "I've got to find someplace where the bad guys – and yes, I'm sure they're bad guys – aren't going to see Frank. Or the whole plan's blown before we even get started!" He glanced over at Matt again. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," was the subdued response.

"Yep, me too…." Frank's soft, muffled voice came from beneath the blanket where he huddled.

"Okay, we've got it all straight, right?" Joe turned into the lighthouse driveway. "I'm going to check out that hidden room again. Matt, you're going to walk around taking pictures and generally being a nuisance to anyone who's trying to break in, or keep watch on the place. And Frank's going to sneak inside, and then find a place to hide." He paused, frowning. "That is, if that caretaker, Carter, isn't around. For a part-time caretaker, he sure seems to be around there a lot!"

"You think he's up to something, man? The jewels, maybe?"

"I don't know what I think," Joe admitted with a small laugh, "but whatever it is, whether it's an unhealthy interest in the historic jewels, or just a case of taking his job awfully seriously, if he's around there tonight, he's going to put the kibosh on our scheme!"

"Seriously, dude!" Matt agreed, nodding vigorously. "But it's the best we can come up with, so we'll have to go with it."

Joe was immensely thankful to see no other cars, when they reached the lighthouse, not even the car which they'd spotted over the past few days. And there was no sign of the boat, in the calm waters of the Bay. If their quarry was around, they were keeping out of sight…or perhaps they'd moved on! Joe wasn't sure whether that pleased or irritated him.

"Looks like it's all clear, Frank," Joe murmured. "But let me look around a little bit before you get out. Let's not take any unnecessary chances."

"Who are you, and what did you do with my younger brother?" came in muffled tones from the back seat.

"Very funny." Joe was tempted to stick out his tongue, but realized it would do him no good; Frank wasn't able to see him at the moment. "Matt? Go ahead and do your thing. And make it look natural, okay? If there's someone hanging around that we can't see, you'll blow it, if you look like you're nervous about something!"

"I AM nervous," Matt complained. "But I'll try to calm down, dude, and look natural," he added, with an attempt at his usual grin.

 _I wonder if he's regretting coming out here to help us, or is rethinking the whole 'adventure' thing? This trip hasn't been all that much fun for him._ Joe shook his head a little – what he wanted right now was for Matt to be careful, and to stay out of the way when he needed to – to not take unnecessary risks! Well, he wanted him to accomplish his decoy tasks too, of course…that went without saying.

Joe pulled the car almost parallel with the light-keeper's cottage and parked as close as possible, heedless of the regulation parking spaces. This would allow Frank a straight shot, crawling or crouching low, from the Aztek's back door to the front door of the cottage. He turned off the engine and opened his door.

"Matt," he spoke up, clearly, "I'm going over to the other side, to take another look at that secret room we found. And no," he added, in a lower tone, "I'm not going to go anywhere near that stupid trunk!" _Or the armoire, either._ _With my luck, Emily could probably lock me inside the armoire, too!_

"Do you want me to go with you, dude? You know, take some pictures of the room? I didn't have the chance, last time we were here." Matt was playing his part with ease, all signs of nerves forgotten. Joe smiled.

"Nah, that's okay. You can take some later, maybe. Right now, I'd rather you finished with the house."

"Okay, your wish is my command, master." Matt got out and headed for the cottage, leaving his door ajar.

Joe walked around to the far side of the lighthouse, but again, saw nobody. Were they wrong about all this? Well, there was always the possibility that the thieves – pirates? – were hiding out on the other side of the Bay, beyond eyeshot. Joe peered out across the gray waters, but saw no sign of the mysterious boat. Either the bad guys weren't using it today – or they hadn't arrived yet – or, worst scenario, they'd already left!

Satisfied that no one was in the area, Joe proceeded to walk back to the car, and opened the back passenger door. He retrieved his backpack from where it lay on the back seat, leaving the door open while he paused to watch Matt open the front door of the light-keeper's cottage…and very carefully _didn't_ watch as Frank moved in a rapid crouch from the Aztek to the cottage, and disappeared inside.

 _Part one, accomplished. Now, on to part two._

Figuring Frank and Matt were situated and on their own, Joe returned to the grassy area below the lighthouse once again, and searched out the hidden entrance to the secret room. Cautiously, he pulled up the turf, and steeled himself as he prepared to descend the ladder. _The last time I went down here, I got locked in a trunk and nearly suffocated!_ _What kind of idiot would go back on_ _purpose_ _? My kind, obviously. Joe Hardy, poster boy for Idiots-R-Us._ He took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm his nerves; finally he felt ready to go. He scampered down the iron rungs of the crude ladder, and reached the hard-packed dirt floor below.

Reaching into his backpack, Joe pulled out a flashlight and switched it on. He crept silently down the short hallway to the little room at the end, panning his light around the walls and ceiling as he did so. To his utter surprise, when he reached the secret room, something had changed: the armoire and chair remained, but the trunk was gone!

"Now where the heck did that go?" he pondered. "Who'd take an old trunk – and why? Mr. Carter? Why would he want to move it?" He supposed it was possible, but he could think of no logical reason for it, and he noticed that the armoire was still there… _ooooops!_

The armoire, which had been tightly closed before, was standing half-open …and there appeared to be clothes hanging out of it, which most definitely hadn't been the case previously! Joe cautiously pulled it fully open, then hastily stepped back – not wanting to risk getting shut in! After a moment, when nothing happened, he took a deep breath and moved closer once again. Using the utmost care, he moved the items of clothing he found – Emily had been seriously upset by him tampering with her clothing, last time around, and he didn't want to risk setting off another visit and possible temper tantrum by his least-favorite apparition!

 _This is really strange,_ he thought, as he continued to move things, searching through the large piece of furniture. _It looks like someone went through this recently. I know_ _I_ _didn't open it when we were here last, and I'm positive Frank or Matt didn't, either. We weren't here long enough, at first – and I'm pretty sure they didn't take time to mess with the armoire, when they were rescuing me!_ He looked around again, but could see nothing suspicious or out of place in the center area. A sudden thought made him turn the flashlight around the room, searching out the corners….

He was taken by surprise – as he turned towards the back corner of the room, Joe heard a noise behind him. Half-expecting it to be Emily, he started to swing about, wondering what she might look like caught in a flashlight's beam. _Transparent? Translucent? Would it startle her?_ He sensed something brushing against him, and before he could complete his turn, felt a glancing blow to his head. Blinking to try and clear his suddenly-graying vision, he fell to the ground, and the flashlight slipped from his grasp, sending white beams gyrating wildly around the room.

Abruptly, the light disappeared, and all was darkness.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, Max2013, and Sarai, for the feedback.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 24

 _Not…happening…not again!_ Joe struggled against the clinging cobwebby strands of unconsciousness, blinking in the dimness of the little underground room. _Darn it, darn it, EMILY? Or someone else? Someone real?_

He'd dropped his flashlight, but either it was still on, somewhere on the floor, or whoever had hit him had one too, for he could see a soft glow, and elongated shadows bouncing around the chamber. _Not…giving up…this time! Stay calm, Hardy – stay calm. Just stay awake and do what you have to do._ Joe shook his head, hoping to clear the fuzziness, and immediately regretted it. _OUCH!_ White-hot spears of pain shot through his head, and he hissed a smothered protest.

Hands grabbed at him, yanking on him. _Okay, it's not Emily! She uses that wind-thing to shove people around, she doesn't grab!_ Heartened by the knowledge that he was fighting someone human, rather than the eerie, vengeful Emily, Joe managed to locate his attacker, and swung an arm, one fist connecting with a solid thump against the man attempting to subdue and tie him up. Hearing a guttural gasp, Joe followed the blow by drawing up his knees, and shot both feet into his assailant, shoving him away, hard.

 _OW!_ Joe wasn't sure whether the impact had hurt his foe more, or _himself_. He blinked against the nearly-blinding pain in his head – _come on, Hardy, it's just a bump; you didn't get hit_ _that_ _hard!_ – and managed to scramble unsteadily to his feet. He stood swaying, waiting – and the next instant, his opponent slammed into him, brutally shoving the younger Hardy against the wall.

His head banged the rough surface, and Joe had to fight to keep from screaming, as his vision streaked with hot flashes of pain. He flung himself forward, using his body weight and muscular strength to drive the other man backward. Seeing an opening, Joe lashed out with one foot and managed a solid blow to his opponent's midsection. The man grunted and doubled over.

"G-give it up," Joe panted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I'm not…alone. You aren't…getting away!"

His adversary's response was a phrase that would definitely have offended Joe's mother, had she heard it. The thug lunged forward, diving low, and tackled Joe at knee level. Joe went down, hard. He didn't have time to berate himself for his stupidity; he was too busy raising his fists to ward off his attacker's blows. He managed to get in a couple of solid punches of his own in retaliation, still keeping up a sturdy defense.

At last, he gathered enough breath to yell as loudly as he could: "FRANK! MATT!"

The intruder swore again, and landed a hard blow on Joe's chin, momentarily stunning him. Dazed, Joe saw the man pick up something from the floor – something metal…a gun!

A swift scissor kick drove the man back, and Joe saw with relief that he'd lost his grip on the weapon. The gun skittered across the floor, in and out of the illuminated band from the flashlight. Joe dove sideways and kicked at the gun, sending it into a dark corner out of reach - although nothing was far out of reach, in that small room.

"Joe? Dude?" The voice was Matt's, the tone questioning. It came from near the doorway. "Did you yell? Everything okay?"

Joe's only reply was a muffled grunt as he found his foe on his back again. _What the hell does it take to keep this guy DOWN, anyway?_ He flung him off – barely. He was getting very tired – he was sore and achy, and what he _really_ wanted to do was go home and crash! _First things first – stupid bad guys!_

"Matt! Careful! I'm not alone!" Joe roared, as he swung a doubled fist and connected solidly with his opponent. The man grunted sharply, startled, and retreated a step, panting. "Get in here, I need some help!"

"It's not Emily, is it?" Matt sounded cautious, none too eager. "I don't want her—"

"NO, it's not Emily! Snap it up, Eckersley – get your rear in gear!" Joe sidestepped, managing to evade another blow. He didn't really want to drag Matt into a fistfight, but he needed some help to capture this guy!

Just as Matt appeared in the doorway, Joe managed to drag his adversary down onto the floor. He flung himself atop the other man and sat there, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

"WHOA!" It happened before he realized what was going on. The figure beneath him heaved up suddenly, and got his hands under him. He shoved up, then flipped – hard. The unexpected move sent Joe flying into Matt, and both young men went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Their shadowy opponent leaped over them and disappeared out the door.

Joe struggled to his feet, he and Matt both shoving at each other as they tried to regain their footing. He slipped a time or two before he could get his feet under him and regain his balance. He raced down the passageway in pursuit, but suddenly the little hallway went dark and Joe heard a slamming sound: the trapdoor entrance had been closed!

He had to feel his way now; his flashlight had been left behind in the secret room with Matt. Reaching the ladder, Joe crawled up – and pushed on the door.

Which didn't budge.

Joe pushed again, in vain. _Well shoot, it's like it's nailed down! That's impossible!_

Grumbling, he edged his way back down the ladder, and limped down the little hallway, meeting Matt as the other man approached with the flashlight.

"We're stuck!"

#####

Frank slid silently through the shadows of the century-old light-keeper's cottage, pausing occasionally to admire a particularly old vase or book sitting on a shelf. He hadn't had time to really appreciate all the things that were here, before – other stuff had kept interrupting! Indicative of what he had learned about Mr. Carter the caretaker, there was no dust to be seen on any of the surfaces. It appeared that Mr. Carter had spent considerable time during the past few days, cleaning! Even the windows were polished; occasionally Frank could see light from outside shining across the rooms. _Is that because Mr. Carter is obsessed with keeping the place clean, or has he cleaned everything up to make sure no fingerprints are around?_

When he reached the back bedroom, Frank saw that the dismantled fireplace – Emily the Ghost's former abode! – was already being restored. The room smelled of fresh mortar, and he could see the carefully-placed stones. He stopped, gazing reflectively at the remnant of Emily's resting place. _That's where it all started – all this weirdness!_ He stepped back a pace or two, half expecting to see Emily leap out at him again. _If she really wants me dead, she has the perfect opportunity right now, with me here alone!_

 _Enough! I'm not going to think about Emily – I'll think about someone much more pleasant…Megan._ The smile Frank hadn't been able to quite find, earlier, now appeared, and he chuckled to himself. Megan hadn't been any too pleased when she found out just how much Frank had been keeping from her about the latest occurrences – namely, Emily's actions! _Luckily, she decided to be mad at Emily rather than me,_ the elder Hardy mused, grinning as he remembered his girlfriend's acerbic comment: 'Some hundred-year-old floozy thinks she can get away with hurting you, she can think again! I might have something to say about that!' Frank was fairly certain she'd been merely teasing – trying to cheer him up – but she'd sounded pretty determined, and he'd learned not to underestimate her. For all that Megan was sweet and demure and polite to a fault, she could be a spitfire if she wanted to. She'd half-succeeded in the cheering-up venture, anyway. _If I hadn't been so freaked out by Emily – and the nightmare – she'd have done it!_

Deciding that he was wasting valuable time, Frank left the back bedroom and proceeded upstairs, binoculars in hand. _Matt said there was a good vantage point from up here….said you could see both the Bay and the road leading to the lighthouse. If anyone shows up by either of those two routes, I'll be able to see it._ He frowned, momentarily. There was always the chance that someone could hike in from the back; he wouldn't be able to see that, and it was entirely possible, for someone determined. Well, he'd just have to do the best he could.

Frank peered out the window, half expecting to see Matt wandering the grounds, snapping pictures. Nope, no Matt in sight. He couldn't see Joe either, and wasn't sure what he was up to. He'd said he was going to check out the hidden storeroom once more, looking for any signs of the secret jewel stash.

Frank raised the binoculars to his eyes and panned across the relatively calm waters of Barmet Bay. _Weather's actually decent – what a change! Cold, though. I might even have decent weather for my birthday. Where did that come from? I hadn't even thought about my birthday in a long time! Oh, I know, Joe mentioned it. He said I was getting senile, or something….I suppose I should come up with plans to celebrate with Megan, or something. We've both been so busy lately…_ and for awhile, what with Emily's shenanigans, he'd started to wonder if he was going to _have_ another birthday!

He looked out over the grassy space again, and swept the binoculars across the roadway. _Nothing. Maybe I ought to check out the back of the house._ Silently, Frank moved out of the room, and across the hallway. In the next bedroom, he had to scramble over a bed and around a cabinet to reach the window – it appeared that the furniture had simply been shoved in here, with no effort at arrangement! – but at last he managed it, and peered outside into the early-evening gloom.

Still no sign of his brother or Matt Eckersley. _Strange,_ Frank thought, perplexed. _Where are Matt and Joe? Shouldn't they be around_ _somewhere_ _?_ He stood quietly for a moment, thinking – watching and listening. He could hear nothing in the house; they hadn't come in. _Did they change their minds and go into the lighthouse, or something?_ He frowned, chewing on a corner of his lip in indecision. If he went outside looking for them, and there was someone watching the lighthouse, he'd blow his cover. Maybe it was too soon to start worrying about Joe and Matt anyway….surely they were all right.

 _Great, now I'm waffling! Paranoid and waffling. Emily, old girl, you're making me crazy, you are!_

Wheeling about to return to the other side of the cottage, Frank stopped abruptly. Standing there before him was a girl – a girl wearing an old-fashioned dress of soft linen…watching him with eyes filled with sadness.

 _EMILY!_ Damn, had he called her up just by thinking about her? Frank froze, but she made no move toward him, and her eyes didn't contain the murderous, hateful expression he'd come to expect – instead, she merely watched, her tawny eyes surprisingly alive and alert.

" _Elliott?"_ The soft, breathy whisper broke the silence at last – more of a question than the usual murderous certainty.

Frank shook his head. "My name isn't Elliott," he said softly, hoping that if he stayed quiet, he wouldn't alarm her. "I'm Frank – Frank Hardy."

" _You aren't Elliott…."_ Emily said, and sighed. _"How do I know you aren't lying?"_ she asked, then.

Frank felt just the slightest pressure of wind against his face – the threat of intent, if he didn't say just the right thing…and say it right now.

" _Elliott is a liar,"_ Emily continued, almost dreamily. _"He has always been a liar. He smiles and tells you what you think you want to hear…but when you try to tell him what you really want, then he turns on you."_ She eyed him curiously. _"How do I know you aren't lying to me? How do I know you aren't really Elliott?"_

Frank swallowed nervously. How could he prove his identity to her? Or more importantly, how could he prove he wasn't Elliott? Would she listen to reason?

"Emily," he said gently, "I'm not Elliott. Do you have any idea how long it's been since you died?"

The girl looked surprised at that, and Frank felt the wind increase slightly. He stood his ground, but didn't move toward her; didn't threaten her.

" _What do you mean?"_

"Emily, it's been over a hundred years. You've been dead over a century. If I was Elliott, I'd be over a hundred years old – I wouldn't look like this." He gestured to himself.

She looked perplexed – obviously the time passage came as a surprise to her. Well, what was time to a ghost, after all? Frank reasoned. He was fairly certain they didn't use calendars or day planners.

" _What – what has happened to Elliott?"_ she asked.

Frank shook his head. "I don't know. But if him being dead is what you wanted…you've got that, Emily. He's dead now."

" _NO!"_ The eerie shriek sliced through Frank's head, and he grabbed at his ears, covering them protectively. _"NO, I MUST MAKE HIM PAY! I WILL have my revenge!"_

Abruptly, the chamber was filled with a roaring wind, which knocked Frank backwards into the wall behind him. Half-stunned, he shook his head and looked up – and found Emily looming over him threateningly.

" _A life for a life,"_ she whispered, and Frank felt icy fingers of fear caress his spine. _"If you are not Elliott, then you must be his descendant. YOU will pay his debt for him!"_


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and BMSH for the comments.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 25

It was some time before Frank regained consciousness. He lay still, struggling to recall recent events. _Ouch. What the heck happened? Why am I lying on the floor, and why – OUCH! – does my head hurt so much?_ He blinked his eyes open hesitantly, and reached to rub at the back of his head, where he could feel a sizeable lump beginning to rise. In addition to the pounding headache, Frank sensed a definite ache in his lungs which made it difficult to breathe deeply. He stared up at the ceiling above him, reluctant to move, knowing it would only make him feel worse. _This is getting old – too old!_

 _Emily!_ The sudden thought made Frank jerk himself to a sitting position – and quickly regret the motion. His head started to spin, and he slumped back onto his elbows for a moment, then scooted backwards until he came to rest against the nearest wall. He remembered now. He remembered Emily's declaration that he had to die – to pay Elliott Pembroke's blood debt. And then there had come the wind rising, and the inability to breathe that accompanied it – however did Emily manage that, anyway? It had pushed him backwards; had practically hurled him back – and he had hit the wall, just about the time his constricted lungs were giving up their fight for oxygen. When he'd hit his head against the wall, that was when everything went black.

 _So why am I still alive? Why didn't she kill me? She could have killed me – but I'm still alive. I'm ALIVE! I'm not dead….She didn't kill me; I'm alive!_

The words echoed repeatedly through his mind. Frank held his aching head, almost relishing the pain throbbing through it, for it meant that he was alive to feel it. He touched the wood of the floor beneath him gently, gratefully, and smiled. He could feel the texture of the wood – rough-hewn, but clean, and even a little warm. The wall behind him was cool against his back.

Again the elder Hardy blinked and looked up at the ceiling, then at the windows. _How long was I out, anyway? Did Joe and Matt leave already?_ Gingerly, Frank turned onto his hands and knees, then reached up and grasped at the windowsill above him. He pulled himself to his feet, then stopped, leaning heavily against the windowpane. The simultaneous pains in his lungs and his head nearly made him whimper, but he managed to stay steady – and remain quiet. _Come on Hardy, you've been hurt worse. Don't be such a baby!_

" _I wanted to kill you – but I couldn't."_ The soft words made him spin about abruptly. Too abruptly; he gasped and grabbed behind him for the wall. He kept one hand on the windowsill and the other against his throbbing head as he resolutely faced the shimmering ghostly figure.

" _What is the date? How long has it been?"_ Emily asked calmly. She took no notice of Frank's pain – or perhaps didn't care.

"It's – it's November…November 13th," Frank faltered. _November 13_ _th_ _, the day before my 20_ _th_ _birthday._ Carefully, he told her the year, and the number of years he thought she'd been dead. Well over a hundred.

 _"I….What know you of Elliot Pembroke? You are much as he is and, yet, I cannot gain vengeance through you. Why?"_

"I don't know much about him at all," Frank confessed, moving cautiously away from the window and toward Emily. One hand encountered the corner of a desk; he slid past it carefully. "He lived over a hundred years ago, or so. He was mayor of Bayport for awhile. That's it – that's all I know. And…Emily?"

" _Yes?"_ The ethereal voice was cool, emotionless.

"I'm not related to him. I swear. It's just a coincidence that we look so much alike. I found the chain connected to an old coin when…when we…found…you. That's the only reason I had it."

" _I was confused – very confused."_ Emily turned away, fluidly; almost as if she was floating. Frank realized that she very likely _was_ floating. Why would she walk, after all? _"I saw you – and I saw his symbol; the chain with the coin. He carried it always. I knew you…I thought. I was sure. He killed Erik, you know. My Erik. We were to marry. We were leaving when Elliott found us."_ The voice was no longer cool and passionless; there was heartbreak in it.

Frank could only watch her, his brown eyes sad. _To die so tragically…._ "I'm…I'm sorry. I—"

" _He killed Erik first,"_ Emily whispered. _"Elliott vowed that no man would stand between us. He killed Erik – he killed my Erik. He made me watch as he did it. He took out a knife as his men forced Erik to his knees…he stabbed him, over and over and over again…."_

How could a ghost sound so horribly desolate? Frank shifted nervously. He still wasn't positive that Emily might not yet turn on him and try to kill him. She might change her mind. He moved slowly, not sure if he should try to approach her, go towards the door, or just get away from the window.

" _I tried to scream, but I knew there was no one to hear me,"_ she continued softly. _"My parents were not home; they had gone into town. That was why Erik and I chose to leave that night. We were afraid they might try to stop us…they thought we were too young. After Erik…died – I told Elliott that I would never, never go with him. When he grabbed my arm, I slapped him. I slapped him as hard as I could, still screaming that he was a murderer, that he had killed my Erik…. And he stabbed me. I felt the pain – and he looked at me, he looked surprised, as if something had happened that he didn't expect. I clutched at him….He touched my face….then…I don't remember anything more. Until I woke up here – and saw you."_

Emily turned towards Frank, facing him fully. He stared at her, his brown gaze unflinching. He still was unsure of her, but his fear was diluted by pity and sorrow for her death – and Erik's.

" _Your eyes are different,"_ she murmured, _"Your clothes….your hair. I see that now."_

Frank nodded. "I'm not related to him," he repeated. "I didn't know anything about Elliott Pembroke until just a few days ago."

She didn't reply, and Frank froze, no longer daring to move through the room. He waited – and watched, unsure of his next move.

" _I cannot make him pay, wish it though I might,"_ she whispered, finally. _"I don't know why I was brought back. Why am I here, if not to get my revenge?"_

Frank was helpless to answer that. _What can I say to her? What sort of answer is there to a question like that?_ He waited, tensely. _Maybe I'm going to live through this after all…._

" _I won't hurt you, you know,"_ she said softly. _"I wasn't able to make myself kill you, although I wanted to. If I could have, I would have already done it. You never would have awakened. Now, I do not wish it."_

Frank exhaled a long breath of relief. He wasn't sure he could believe her – how can one be sure of the truthfulness of a distraught ghost, after all? – but he was willing to try. "Emily – what are you going to do now?" he ventured to ask.

" _I do not know,"_ came the reply. _"I do not know – but I will wait. For however long it takes, I will wait – to find out."_

Frank glanced away from her for just a moment, and when he looked back…she was gone.

#####

Frank wandered through the upstairs of the cottage towards the front, peering out the windows. He was surprised to see how much darker it was outside. More time had passed than he realized, while he was unconscious and then talking with Emily. _TALKING WITH EMILY! I was talking with a_ _ghost_ _…._ It still seemed totally unbelievable. The soft twilight which had been starting to fall right after they arrived had given way to stars in the sky and a rising moon shining on the lighthouse.

The lighthouse was dark now; no flashing white beacon traveling in its circuit. That wasn't surprising; it wasn't lit every night. Frank looked down and gave a start of surprise: Joe's Aztek was still parked in the lot! _What in the world is that still doing here? Joe and Matt should have left already and gone back home – that was the plan!_ And if he and Matt were still around, Frank continued to fret, why hadn't they come back to the cottage and found Frank unconscious on the floor? Had Emily – _oh no!_ – had Emily done something to Joe again? To Matt, too?

 _No, no, she said she couldn't kill me, and she wouldn't have harmed them; if she isn't mad at me any more, then she wouldn't have done anything to them…would she?_

Plan or no plan, Frank was too disturbed to just let this go. He had to go and find out what had happened to his brother and his friend. He crept down the stairs, moving as quietly as he could, still keeping a hand pressed to his aching head. _I must have really given myself a knock – or, rather,_ _Emily_ _did, darn her!_ There might be unwanted visitors in the cottage that he was unaware of; someone he didn't want to meet up with, after all. Silently, he slipped outside and dropped into a half-crouch.

Cautiously, Frank stayed near the cottage, keeping in the shadows, blending into the darkness as he scooted along the front wall. He pulled a small penlight from his pocket, but didn't turn it on, relying instead on the moonlight and the feel of the wall beneath his hand. Reaching the back of the cottage, he edged forward enough to peer around the corner. The moon was nearly full; it didn't cast as much light as the sun, of course, but it was enough to keep Frank from stumbling. Seeing nothing untoward, he edged around the corner, still staying in his crouch and keeping a guiding hand on the wall.

At last he rose to his feet and flicked on the penlight, searching over the grass for the hidden trapdoor which led to the secret underground room. He had expected it to be open, but it wasn't; it took him a few minutes to locate the spot where it lay, concealed by the dirt and weedy grass. Finding it at last, Frank knelt down, and squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Softly, he muttered imprecations at Emily and the results of her vendetta, and took a deep breath to steady himself. When his vision cleared, he pulled at the latch to open the trapdoor.

It didn't open.

Frank frowned, puzzled. He tugged at the latch again, rattling it.

"Hey! Frank! Frank?" The voice coming from below was muffled, but Frank recognized it as Joe's. "FRANK?"

"Joe? It's me – hang on, this thing seems to be stuck. I'll get you out in a minute."

Frank shone his penlight onto the latch and frowned again. _There's a_ _lock_ _there! It didn't have a lock before – where the heck did_ _that_ _come from?_ He blinked and rubbed at his head, wishing he didn't feel quite so fuzzy; after a few seconds he remembered that he _was_ carrying his lockpick kit, thank goodness! He pulled the compact leather case from his pocket and set to work.

The padlock wasn't much of a challenge; Frank had it open in short order. He pulled it free of the latch, then tugged the trapdoor up and flashed his light into the hole, revealing Joe and Matt at the bottom of the ladder, gazing up at him. Both of them, Frank noted with dismay, looked as though they'd been put through the wringer – especially Joe!

"What happened to you guys?" he gasped, as they climbed up and crawled out onto the grass. "Are you all right?"

"Got jumped by some creep in the lower room," Joe growled. "He's the one who locked us in."

"You're okay?" Frank tilted his brother's head slightly to study his bruised cheek.

"I'll be better when I catch the guy who did this," Joe responded sourly. "Ouch, watch it!"

"I'm not sure I want to see that guy again," Matt put in dubiously. "I'm just glad to be out of that room; that was waaaaaaaaaay spooky, dude!"

"You okay, Matt?" Frank flashed the penlight in his direction.

"Yeah, I'm okay." Matt rubbed himself in a few places, but nodded. "First I didn't know what hit me, ya know? Joe was yelling for help, and I thought he'd run into Emily, or something. And then I got tossed into Joe, and the guy was just, like, gone with the wind, man – and then we couldn't get out, and we thought you were totally never gonna find us, Frank!"

"What about you?" Joe asked him then. "Where've you been all this time – and why do you look like you're about to pass out?"

"I banged my head on a wall," his brother evaded. He'd tell them about Emily in a little while – but not just yet.

Frank shut off his light, and the three made their way back towards the front of the cottage, moving slowly through the moonlight-splashed darkness.

"The trunk's gone," Joe said to his brother. "Can you believe it? It wasn't in the room. I didn't have time to see more than that it was gone, before that goon jumped me. Who'd take a trunk full of old clothes? Especially with Emily guarding them!"

Frank was about to explain that Emily had been otherwise occupied, but a sudden burst of light – several lights – flared in their faces, effectively blinding them! A warm, feminine voice spoke:

"Well – so what do we have here, boys?"


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH, Sarai and Max2013!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 26

"Come forward slowly, hands up," the dulcet voice continued without pause. "Come on." The woman holding the revolver on them waved it, indicating where she wished them to go, then stood quietly, watching them as they filed docilely past, Frank in the lead, then Matt, then Joe.

Frank paused and slowly raised his hands in the air, watching the woman intently as he moved, and attempting to ignore the throbbing headache which still hammered behind his eyes. _Who the heck is this? And how badly did I hit my head, anyway? I don't need…don't want …another concussion! This is getting ridiculous!_

"Rats in the cellar," the warm contralto tones continued, and the three captives could hear the smile in her voice. "Sorry boys, but this is the end of the line. We have work to do, and you've been in the way since Day One. Now, why don't you make it easy on all of us, and tell me where they are?"

"You're – I recognize your voice," Joe blurted. "You're the Wedding Lady!"

A ringing laugh from the woman and chuckles from the group behind her was the response. "The Wedding Lady?" she echoed.

"Well, I don't remember your name," the younger Hardy muttered.

"Not that it's really any of your concern, but my name is Mallory Rutledge," she said coolly. "Now – where are they?" she snapped again.

Frank blinked stupidly in the harsh flashlight beams. "Where are what?" He managed to school his voice to patience, although what he desired above all else at the moment was to lie down and sleep for about…oh, a year, maybe? Instincts taking over, he watched warily, waiting for a moment when he might make a move, despite his aching head. He took a stumbling step forward and then steadied himself, feeling Matt's hand grip the back of his jacket.

Mallory barked another brief laugh. "Nice try, sonny, would you like another chance?" She nodded to the group of men accompanying her – with the flashlight beams in their faces, it was impossible to see how many there were – and Frank felt his arms gripped tightly and wrenched savagely behind his back, as two of them seized him. He let out an involuntary huff of pain, and wobbled; only the cruel grip on his arms keeping him upright. He wriggled just the slightest bit, testing – and was disappointed with the results. _This is just not my day!_

The gun trained unerringly upon them had kept Joe and Matt from any ideas of springing to Frank's aid. "Let's try it again," Mallory Rutledge said, her voice deceptively sweet. "Where are the jewels?"

"Haven't seen 'em," Joe said curtly. He was taut with fury at his inability to help Frank. "Don't have any idea what you're talking about."

The woman's eyes narrowed with hostility, the gleaming blue going dark as she stepped forward. Still holding the gun in a firm grip, she doubled up her left fist, and drove it into Frank's stomach. The elder Hardy cried out in pain, and sagged forward; he would have fallen to the ground if he hadn't been held up by his captors.

"Hey! Stop it!" Instinctively reacting to his brother's anguish, Joe lurched forward – only to find a revolver inches from his face. He halted, holding his breath.

"Stay put!" Rutledge's clipped tone brooked no arguments. She glared at Joe and Matt, as if daring them to defy her orders. "I only need one of you alive, you know. The other two can die right now, for all I care. You can choose which of you stays alive."

"NO!" Frank recovered enough breath to voice a protest. "We're telling you the truth! We don't know where the jewels are! Why do you think we keep coming back here? If we knew where they were, we'd have—" Abruptly, his voice trailed off, dwindling into nothing, and he sagged forward, head drooping.

Joe stared at him, nearly frantic with anxiety. "Frank?"

"Take them to the cave," Mallory ordered peremptorily. "Secure them there. A few days there might loosen their tongues—" She paused, and laughed caustically. "If it doesn't kill them!"

Before Joe or Matt could move, they felt themselves seized from behind, and held in brutally tight grips, unable to move. Joe watched in dismay as Rutledge nodded to one of the men, who produced a small bottle and poured the contents onto a cloth, then stepped towards the helpless Hardys and Matt Eckersley.

 _Chloroform!_ Joe barely had time to register the thought, and no time whatsoever to protest or struggle, before the sickly-sweet stench overcame him, and he sank to his knees.

#####

 _Freezing – I'm freezing! Why the heck is it so cold?_ Frank automatically tried to reach down, searching for his blankets, frowning in sleepy puzzlement when he couldn't locate them. _If Joe came in and took my covers off for a joke…._ He tried to roll over, still searching for his lost bedclothes – and found he was unable to move. Any attempts shot barbs of pain through his stomach and his head. He groaned, and lay still, shivering against what he could tell was dirt and rock, for a long moment before he slowly opened his eyes – to near-total darkness.

"Frank? You back with us? You had me worried, bro."

It was Joe's voice, coming from somewhere to his right. Frank blinked, trying to penetrate the gloom. As his eyes slowly adapted to the low levels of light, he found Joe sitting nearby, hands behind his back.

"What…happened?" Frank croaked. "Where…?" He struggled again to move, and realized that his own hands were bound tightly behind him. He was lying on them, and they seemed to have gone numb. There was an odd heavy weight around one ankle, too….He shivered, wondering how long he'd been lying there.

"We're in a cave in the cliff below the lighthouse," Joe explained wearily. "Those goons with Mallory Rutledge hauled us down here and dumped us – after hitting us with chloroform. I didn't get a full dose, though – I was more dazed than unconscious. You were better off, believe me – you didn't want to be awake for the trip!"

"Don' wanna be…'wake now, either," Frank murmured, and let his eyes drift shut. Conscience prodded him, and he blinked them open, and tried shifting and squirming as best he could. It hurt – it was a bad move, he knew – but at least maybe moving would warm him up a little. Maybe. "Where – where's Matt?"

"Here, dude." The dispirited voice of their friend came from the other side. Frank turned his head, wincing, and managed to make out Matt's slight form, hunched in the moonlight-shot darkness, hands shackled as well. Beyond him – Frank squinted. It looked like another body, over closer to the wall….

"Who – is there someone…?"

"Cherise," Matt explained briefly, with a resigned sigh. "Seems she didn't go home – or whatever – after all."

"She was here when I woke up," Joe said. "I tried to scoot over there and check her over a little – she's breathing, but she hasn't woken up, or even come close to it. She's alive, but she needs help – and we can't do anything for her, cuffed like we are." He shifted a little. "They handcuffed us, damn 'em. And then, to add insult, they left the keys." He indicated the wall. "I saw one of the guys put it up on a little ledge there. No way we can reach them."

"Man, I feel sick," Matt murmured, and leaned forward over his knees.

"It's the chloroform," Frank informed him tiredly. He knew exactly how Matt felt – well, maybe Matt didn't feel _quite_ as bad as he did, he decided. Matt hadn't banged his head on a wall first, after all, or been choked by Emily… _again_!

He closed his eyes. _This is not a good situation at all. Maybe Dad will come looking for us, when we don't show up at home….Joe's Aztek is up there in the parking lot, after all…._ He voiced this thought hopefully, only to have Joe dash it.

"Dad's out of town, Frank, remember? And we told Mom we might be out really late anyway." Joe's tone mingled chagrin and wry humor. "And Vanessa wasn't expecting to hear from me; I told her I'd stay out of her hair tonight while her ankle's healing."

Frank groaned a little, remembering now. "I told Megan the same thing – I mean, that we might be out all night, and she shouldn't expect to hear from me until tomorrow."

"And—" Joe paused, and Frank heard him swallow hard. "Anyway…the Aztek's not up by the lighthouse."

"Huh? Why not? You think they drove it away, or something?"

"Whaddya mean, dude?" Even Matt sounded interested, curiosity overcoming nausea for the moment.

"Because," Joe muttered somberly, "I was awake shortly after we got stuck in here, and I…saw it go by."

Frank blinked. "You saw it go by?" he echoed, uncomprehendingly.

Joe nodded toward the cave opening, where the pale moonlight filtered in. "I saw it go by," he repeated. "The Aztek doesn't float very well, Frank – not for long, anyway."

"Dude! No!"

Frank's eyes were wide with shock. "Your car…" he whispered.

"Fish food," Joe said mournfully. "That is, if fish eat metal." He gulped a little. "I knew that car was cursed," he sighed. "And damn it, I'd just finished paying it off!"

"Oh, Joe…."

"Well, nothing to be done about it now. Why don't you guys lie down for awhile and rest?" Joe was quite evidently trying to shake off his melancholy. "Frank, I'll wake you up every hour or so – the way you've been reacting, I think you've gone and concussed yourself again, brother mine – but you could get some sleep. You too, Matt. If I thought we'd have any chance of getting out of here soon, I'd keep you awake, but…."

"I'm not gonna argue, Joe dude," Matt murmured. "But if you want me to stay awake and keep an eye on Frank, just tell me, okay?" Cautiously, he eased himself down onto his side and closed his eyes.

Frank, about to follow Matt's example, suddenly froze, as shimmering light appeared near the cave entrance, and a familiar voice spoke:

" _What happens here? What are you doing here?"_ The shimmering form drew nearer, and Frank could make out familiar features and clothing _. "Frank Hardy?"_

"Emily," he breathed. The ghost appeared to be hovering over them, peering down at the boys with curiosity. "Emily – we're in trouble! Can you help?" If he'd been a little less out of things – a little less hurt – Frank would have realized what an insane notion this was. Asking for help from a ghost? He didn't believe in ghosts – well, he hadn't used to. Right now, he was too tired to think about whether or not Emily really existed; he had to assume she did, and just hope she could manage to help them somehow!

She looked and sounded uncertain. _"I…am not sure."_

Joe and Matt were staring too, caught between disbelief and wary hope. "The keys—" Joe jerked his head. "If we had the keys…."

Emily looked, and apparently saw them. She floated over to the ledge and reached out a hand to pick up the keys, only to frown when her fingers passed through them, insubstantial as water or mist. _"I…this is…"_ Her frown deepened into a glare, as if the keys had personally offended her – and then became a look of concentration. The three young men watched her, mesmerized. They saw her fingers curl again over the metal, and then came the soft _whish!_ of the wind she could summon, through the cave. The keys flew through the air, borne on that ghost wind, to land with a jangling thump on the cave floor.

Frank felt like cheering. "You're doing it!" he gasped. "You're doing it, Emily!"

She frowned in concentration again, and pushed another spectral wind gust at the keys, moving them closer to Joe. A shy smile crossed her face. She was obviously pleased with the results of her efforts. But then she stopped, seeming to lose all interest in what she had been doing. She stared into the back recesses of the cave, where a small ledge protruded from the wall. Frank, watching her, would have sworn that, had she been alive – and at the moment, she _seemed_ alive – he could see her turn paler. Emily flew – literally flew – past Joe, and landed beyond him. She hovered over…something. And then she knelt on the floor of the cave.

" _Erik."_ The word was the most insubstantial of whispers – and it was spoken in tones more tender than Frank had ever before heard her utter. _"My Erik…."_ She reached out and touched something on the floor.

 _Erik? ERIK?_ Frank closed his eyes. Was this where Emily's fiancé had been killed, or at least where his body had been left? Somehow, finding another skeleton here in this cave seemed awfully discouraging. It conjured up all sorts of unpleasant images of four more skeletons – his, Joe's, Cherise's, and Matt's – being added to Erik's.

Joe, meanwhile, had been struggling to reach the keys Emily had blown at him. He scooted backwards and sideways, reaching with his manacled hands to grasp them. When he finally had them securely in his grip, he sat for a moment, shivering in the cold blasts of wind which were beginning to whip into the open mouth of the cave. Finally he turned the keys about until he could get one into the lock on the cuffs, and manipulate it. It took a few moments, but at last one cuff opened, and Joe freed his wrist. Twisting about, he unlocked the other cuff, and then removed the shackles from his feet.

Gingerly, Joe rotated his shoulders and rubbed his wrists, trying to restore the blood circulation to his extremities. "Brrrr!" he exclaimed, as another cold wind gust hit him. He scrambled across the floor to Matt, and quickly freed the other man from his restraints. "You doing okay, Eckersley?"

"Better now," Matt affirmed, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. "Here, let me get Frank loose; you check on Cherise, man."

Joe did so, wishing desperately for more light than was seeping in through the cave opening. He found the young woman still unconscious, but at least she was breathing. She was cold, though – he didn't like the feel of her skin; she was obviously ill, and very probably dehydrated, as well as hypothermic. "I wonder how long she's been here?" he muttered, more to himself than to Matt or Frank. "Since Sunday? Monday?" He patted her face gently. "Cherise? C'mon now, girl, open your eyes. Cherise?" Over his shoulder, he observed, "We need to get her some help, guys. She's not doing well at all."

Matt brought him the keys, and Joe proceeded to release the cuffs which had held Cherise's hands and feet, then chafed her wrists. To his surprise, Matt scooted down beside the girl and took her into his arms, wrapping them around her.

"Don't jostle her, Matt – it's not good for hypothermic patients to be tossed around."

"I'm being careful, dude – but this is the best way I can think of to get her a little warmer," Matt replied. "It's not like we have any blankets, or anything!" Carefully, he tucked the front of his jacket more securely about the unconscious girl.

Seeing that Matt had Cherise well in hand – literally – Joe moved over to check on Frank. He found his older brother struggling to sit up.

"Hey, hey, what's the big idea? You're supposed to be resting, remember?"

"Later. Help me up, Joe."

Joe sighed, knowing Frank was probably dizzy and sick still, but obeyed the request and helped him to a sitting position – and then held him there when he wobbled dangerously. "You're pushing your limits, big brother," he warned gently. He looked back at where Emily still knelt. "What did she find?" he whispered in Frank's ear.

"Not sure," came the almost-inaudible reply, "but I think it's probably the bones of Erik, her fiancé. The one Elliott Pembroke killed."

"Killed—" Joe stared at him, eyes wide in the faint moonlight. He looked again at Emily. "Emily," he said tentatively. "Emily?"

She turned towards them, almost as if she had forgotten they were there. _"Yes?"_

"Could you – is there any way you could – um – get help for us?" Joe asked, feeling somewhat foolish.

She shook her head _. "I am sorry,"_ she whispered, _"but I cannot. I cannot come and go wherever I wish – and I cannot be seen by just anyone - I - it is hard. I – need something to…I followed – the chain with the coin, to find Frank. And I can find him now without it. You also. But…but not…others. I couldn't find my way. And no one could see me – or if they did, why would they listen to what I said? Or believe I was there at all?"_ She sighed, a tiny ethereal thread of sound. _"It wouldn't work."_

"Even if she followed the coin on the chain," Frank commented softly, "it's in police evidence lockup now. No one to see her – hear her – believe her."

Joe sighed – much more loudly. _Of course not. Homicidal ghosts don't help people. Speaking of which, why isn't she homicidal anymore? That's curious…._ She'd helped them – seemed willing to help them further, if she'd been able – and she was calling Frank by his name, not cursing him as a murderer. _That's my brother – he can charm even spectral astral-plane beings!_ Well, if Emily couldn't help, it was going to be up to mere mortals. He got to his feet. "All right, then," he announced. "I'm going for help."

"Joe, you can't!" Frank's protest came swiftly. "It's freezing in that water!"

Matt echoed him: "It's totally cold out there, dude! You weren't in it before, but I promise you – ice cube, bud, ice cube!"

Joe went to stand at the cave entrance, and was dismayed at what he saw. This wasn't a cave high in the cliff, it was low – relatively speaking. The waters of icy Barmet Bay were perilously close to the entrance already, and Joe knew the tide was still coming in, which would raise the water level even higher.

"I don't think I have any choice," he said, turning back to the others. "If we don't get out of here pretty soon, we may end up being drowned!"


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Many thanks to Cherylann, Max2013, sm2003495, Sarai, BMSH and Iheartninjago2010 for your kind commentary!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 27

Joe's foreboding words seemed to hang threateningly in the cave.

"Well, so what are we gonna do, guys?" From his place on the cave floor, cradling the unconscious Cherise, Matt spoke up. "Cherise needs help – we need to get her out of here. And I doubt that the bad dudes up top are gonna offer us any. Anyone have a phone? We could call Rescues-R-Us and get out of here, right?"

"Sorry, Matt, fresh out of phones." Frank patted his pockets and shook his head. "I think they must have taken them when they dumped us here. My light's gone, my phone's gone, my knife's gone, my lockpick set's gone."

"Same here," Joe agreed glumly.

"Smoke signals?" Matt persisted, grinning. "Hey, c'mon, you dudes know Morse code, don't you, or Indian smoke signals? Dude! We can turn this whole thing into a major movie!" He groaned suddenly. "Man, they took my camera, too! Another camera bites the dust. My insurance agent is NOT gonna believe this, he just isn't gonna at all."

 _Well, at least Matt the Irrepressible is back_ , Joe thought. He'd been half afraid that the events and circumstances Matt had been through in the past week would have scared the young photographer so much he'd never be the same again. Evidently Matt was more resilient than that. He was muttering something about what he was going to say to Phil, once he was back in New York, and how, no matter how Phil begged and pleaded, he wasn't gonna help these darned Hardys _any more_! Joe grinned. He appreciated Matt's attempt to raise their spirits – or was it because Matt was actually so terrified that he could no longer react with sobriety?

"Nobody would believe the ghost," Frank commented quietly, and both Matt and Joe eyed him warily. He seemed to be a little behind in the conversation, repeating himself, and was sitting huddled in on himself, his eyes half-closed. Joe knew Frank had to be feeling the cold – heck, _he_ was cold, and he was in better shape than Frank, at the moment!

 _Speaking of the ghost…._ Joe glanced at the back of the cave. Emily was still kneeling there, ignoring them again. All her concentration – how much concentration did ghosts possess, anyway? – was focused on the pathetic heap of bones and scraps of rotten leather which was all that remained of her beloved Erik.

"I'm going to have to go," Joe announced. He sighed heavily, staring out through the entrance of the cave, at the chill, heaving waters of Barmet Bay. Swimming for it would be risky in more ways than one. With the tide coming in, he could be dashed against the cliff face by a wave, and killed quickly, without ever having to worry about hypothermia! "I'll see how far I can make it by climbing sideways and down, along the cliff – I'll swim if I have to, but it'll be a last resort!" He didn't state his fears – no sense in worrying Matt or Frank, right?

"Joe, it's suicide!" Frank somehow managed to struggle to his feet. He clung to the cave wall, but at least he was standing on his own. "If you go out there – the waves….the water's freezing…."

"Frank!" Joe hadn't meant to yell, but it came out much more sharply than he'd intended, and he saw Frank flinch as his shout bounced off the cave walls. "I don't have a choice! It's a full moon, or close to it – the tide's the highest it'll be all month, it's still coming in, and the Bay was already up from all the rain we've had in the past week. If I don't go, we could be dead in a few hours – that's dead, as in D-E-A-D, dead. If not us, then most certainly Cherise! This is our—" he made an encircling gesture with his hands, indicating them all, "only chance. What choice do we have? Do you really think someone will find us before the water comes in this cave and we drown? Or die from the freezing water?" Joe stopped, his chest heaving and his eyes glittering.

Frank sighed, and Joe knew he'd won. Frank might not like it, but he was going to accept it. He approached his brother, and laid a hand gingerly on his shoulder. "I have to, Frank," he said quietly.

"Yeah – I know." The elder Hardy's jaw firmed. "You get killed doing this and I'll never forgive you." He held his somber expression for a few more moments before he smiled, his teeth making a brief flash of white in the faint moonlight. "Be careful – go slow. Try not to play tag with your truck, okay?"

"Yeah, Joe, you be careful, man. This cliff's not something to mess with; I found that out the hard way. And we don't, like, want to lose you, dude," Matt said tightly.

"I think I'd better go before all the sentiment in here makes me sick," Joe quipped, forcing a grin. "Take care, bro – Matt, make him sit down. He's barely standing."

"Ah, but I am standing, and that's the important thing—"

"Gone, gone, this is me, gone," Joe interrupted. He stripped his jacket off and handed it to Matt. "Put this on Cherise. It'll just be in my way." He walked slowly over to the cave entrance, and peered out, scoping out what he faced. The pale moonlight cast shadows on the turmoil of the water below, and Joe watched grimly as waves dashed against the cliff face. The Bay looked murky and horribly deep, and Joe swallowed nervously, running his tongue over his lips. Finally, he leaned outside and patted a questing hand along the side of the cliff, searching for possible handholds and footholds.

"Okay – I'm off. See you after awhile." With a vague 'goodbye' gesture, Joe swung out of the cave, and was gone.

#####

 _Man, it is_ _seriously_ _cold out here!_ Joe sighed to himself as he watched the moon disappear behind an errant cloud. _Whoops! Not good!_ Immediately, all his scant available light was gone. He froze, clinging like a limpet to the rocky cliff, not daring to move. He waited, barely breathing, and after a minute or two, the moon emerged once more, softly illuminating the cliff face.

Struggling not to lose his grip, and not get confused by the shifting shadows, Joe worked his way along the cliff face, searching slowly and cautiously for handholds and footholds. He didn't dare make a misstep, even though it took more time.

 _I am FREEZING! Giving my coat to Cherise was noble – and it really would have been in my way in this little cliff-crawl – but I am turning into an absolute ice cube, here!_ _Just like Matt said._ It was so cold, Joe could feel his fingers growing numb, starting with the tips. _Hardy, thank your lucky stars it's not really_ _winter_ _yet! You'd be regretting this little adventure even more than you are now!_ He continued to crawl along the cliff, berating himself, talking out loud to keep himself focused _. Come on, keep moving, keep moving. Don't think about anything else, just keep going._

When he realized he really _couldn't_ feel his fingers any more, Joe stopped. He loosened one hand, and blew on it, rubbed it against his jeans, willing the chafing to return some feeling to the appendage. _What a day – night – to be gloveless!_ He winced and whimpered, realizing all he'd accomplished was to start pins and needles attacking his right hand. He closed his eyes momentarily. _All right, Joe, get on with it! Settle down. That tide's rising, remember? You don't have a whole lot of time, here!_

Upset and angry at himself, Joe forced his eyes open and again started the slow crablike movement across the cliff face. Search for a new handhold…grab. Search for a foothold…step. Search…reach…search…slide. Was he going too slowly? Shivering with both cold and fear, Joe glanced down at the water below, trying to gauge how much it had risen, how close the moonlit waves were now. The faint illumination gave his imagination the shivers.

"AAAAH!"

The scream splintered the night's silence, as Joe slipped – and barely caught himself, with one foot precariously placed and a tenuous grip with one hand. He flattened himself against the rock, clinging with all his might. _Don't panic…don't panic. Just stay still. Don't move for a minute…just bloody well stay put!_

Carefully, as if the action might catapult him off the cliff, Joe opened his eyes, and moved his head slightly, just enough to peer around him. Spotting another grip for his left hand, he cautiously pulled himself up just a little, heaving a sigh of relief when he found himself with four solid points of contact once again. He took a deep breath. _All right…take it easy. You can do this, Hardy. Let's go._

Another cautious, frightening step.

Another.

A third.

Joe pushed everything but his goal from his mind, concentrating fiercely on the business at hand, zeroing in on each careful movement. _Step…slide. Step…slide. Grab._

Until suddenly, there was nowhere to go, except down. The cliff had sloped into a corner filled with huge rocks and pockets of water which blocked the escape route of the sandy beach. Joe groaned. _I was afraid it was going to come to this!_

Setting his teeth, he eased himself into the frigid waters of the bay – _Cold! Cold, cold, cold, cold!_ – grateful that he actually was able to touch bottom most of the time. He moved carefully, knowing that a misstep in these slick rocks could mean disaster. His teeth chattered as he plunged forward, moving as quickly as he could towards the beach itself. _I wanna get OUT of here, I wanna get out of this liquid-nitrogen stupid water, I have to get to a phone – I have to get help, get help, right now…right NOW!_

Joe stumbled and fell forward into the water again, this time going under for a few lung-paralyzing seconds. He came up gasping for air, colder than ever. Regaining his footing, he stumbled over more rocks, half walking, half crawling through the water, which was becoming increasingly shallow. At last, he crawled out, not even feeling the rocks which dug into his numbed hands and knees, and collapsed onto the rough, wet sand of the beach.

Joe lay shivering for a few minutes, breathing prayers of thanks. But he knew he couldn't stop now. He managed to pull himself to his knees, and then stagger to his feet. He stumbled forward, forcing himself to keep moving. He walked – step by shambling, lurching step – walked towards the soft, warm light he could see in the distance.

###

Numbed hands pounded on the door of the house. "Please! Help! I need help! Please!"

A porch light flashed on above him, and the door opened to reveal an elderly woman who gazed in dismay at the sodden, shivering Joe. "Oh my heavens – oh dear. Oh dear, you poor boy, come in – come in!"

"Gotta…get help," Joe mumbled, suddenly aware that after all this, his mouth was refusing to work properly. "Gotta get help. Frank and Matt – in cave…below…light…house." He pitched forward onto his hands and knees once again. _Gotta stay awake – gotta get help for Frank and Matt. Gotta save…._

And then he thought nothing more at all.


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Many thanks to BMSH, Cherylann, Max2013 and Sarai for the feedback.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 28

Helen Merrick stared down at the young man who had collapsed so unceremoniously into a heap at her feet, momentarily frozen by the unnerving sight. _My stars, in all my 82 years, I've never seen the like!_ She'd seen a lot of things, good, bad, and indifferent, but having a stranger pound on her door in the middle of the night, stagger in, and then drop senseless – well, that was something new, all right! Her husband, bless his soul, dead these last ten years, would have been raising alarms about intruders, all over the county by now, had he been around – but Helen was a more gentle soul, and a little more relaxed in her approach to life, as well. She'd deal with it.

She crouched down beside the wet, sandy, bedraggled figure, and grasped his arms. With a strength belying her years and slenderness, she pulled and tugged her surprise visitor out of the hallway and into the living room. There was a small fire still burning in the fireplace, despite the late hour; once she had the young man situated satisfactorily, Helen quickly added more wood and encouraged it to blaze up with renewed vigor.

"Wake up now, lad." She knelt down and began chafing his face with her hands, then moved on to his hands. _The poor boy's like ice!_ Hastily, Helen brought extra blankets from the cedar chest in her bedroom, and wrapped them about the young man, moving him as close to the fire as she dared.

 _He's obviously in trouble….He's been in the water. And those things he said before he fainted – something about people named Matt, and Frank…and a cave in the cliff below the lighthouse?_

Helen peered out through the front window. The light wasn't lit tonight, at Stone Point. No sweeping band of illumination tonight; she hadn't expected it to be, for it seldom was, any more. She missed it – missed the old days, when it was shining every night.

Well, first things first. Mrs. Merrick went to the telephone and dialed 9-1-1. When the operator answered, she gave the needed information about her mysterious visitor. Assured that an ambulance would be dispatched immediately, Helen returned to a seat on the rug before the fireplace, kneeling beside the still, slack-featured boy lying there. She touched his face gently; he was starting to feel a little warmer, but still, he was much too cold.

"Boy? Wake up, please?" She shook his shoulder gently.

The young man moved his head slightly, but didn't open his eyes. After a moment, he muttered thickly: "Frank…hurt….get help. Matt – cave….Cliff, the cliff…." And then lapsed into unconsciousness once more, although he was shaking and shivering, even so.

Helen frowned. She knew hypothermia could cause what seemed like dementia, but this didn't sound quite like what she thought dementia would. Well, she wasn't going to desert this youngster, demented or not, she decided. Years spent dealing with ten children, eighteen grandchildren, and fourteen great-grandchildren stood her in good stead; at the moment this young man needed her help, and she wasn't likely to turn her back on him!

She got to her feet and went into the kitchen, where she proceeded to heat water for tea. _He needs to be warmed inside as well as out; I can do_ _this_ _much for him before the paramedics get here,_ she decided. _It won't hurt him, and the way he's shivering makes my very_ _bones_ _ache!_ He reminded her a little of Ryan, one of her grandsons. While she waited for the water to boil, Helen fetched two heat packs and warmed them in the microwave, then tucked them into the blankets wrapped about the stranger. She was rewarded with a sigh, and what looked like a relaxing of his muscles, as the heat began to penetrate and do its job. She felt his face again, and was glad to see it was no longer icy, merely cool to the touch.

A muted siren's whoop and red and blue flashing lights drew her attention outside, and then there came the abrupt ringing of the doorbell, startling in the stillness. Recovering her poise, Helen made her way to the door and admitted two paramedics and a young police officer accompanying them.

"Ma'am? I'm Officer Jeremy Isaacs," the policeman introduced himself. He waited, politely, while Helen showed the medics the reason for her call, then went on. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

Half-watching as the medics began checking the young man over, Helen complied. "I stayed up late – I was listening to the radio – the classical music station – and doing some knitting. And then all of a sudden, there was this pounding on the door. When I opened it, that young man started babbling about needing help, about some other people needing help. People he called Matt, and Frank, and how they were in a cave somewhere on the cliffs. And then—" she gestured towards the floor. "he just…collapsed. Right there by the door. I dragged him in here and wrapped him up. He's soaked through; freezing cold!"

Jeremy Isaacs stepped over to the little group in front of the fireplace, careful to stay out of the way of the paramedics as they worked, and stared down. His eyebrows elevated. _Joe Hardy! I'll be damned! What's going on?_

With a suddenness that surprised them all, Joe abruptly opened his eyes, staring wildly about himself. "What – where?" He pushed at the medic who was attempting to check his blood pressure. "Let go of me…."

"Sir, lie still please—"

"NO!" Joe fought off the restraining hands. "I've got to save my brother; the tide's coming in, and Frank's going to drown, and Matt, and I've got to get back to them with help—"

"Joe! Joe, calm down." Jeremy knelt down beside the overwrought younger Hardy. "Hey, remember me? Jeremy Isaacs? We played football at the park, and I got shot…."

"Jeremy…" Joe's brief moment of strength was over; he sagged back down on the carpeting.

"Okay, tell me what's the deal. What's this about Frank and a cave? Which cave? Where?"

"It's…there's a cave, below the lighthouse, pretty close to the water." Joe struggled to think clearly. "Tide's coming in….Frank's there…and our friend, Matt. And Cherise, from the Historical Society. She's been there, tied up, for several days, and she needs medical help more than I do – so you guys should just go take care of her, right? What are you waiting for?" He pushed at the nearest medic impatiently. "Go, go!"

"Take it easy." Jeremy gripped Joe's shoulder gently. "We're on it, okay?"

"My lands," Helen Merrick interjected crisply. "There's plenty enough saving for all of you – now why don't you just stay still, and give these nice people a chance to make you feel better, young man?"

Joe wanted to argue – but for some strange reason, his strength seemed to have deserted him, along with his voice. He found himself falling backwards once more, on the soft blankets…in front of the wonderfully warm fire….He let his eyes close, unable to form a coherent thought. Or words.

#####

Frank rocked back and forth on the unyielding rock, arms wrapped tightly about himself in a vain effort to conserve a little heat. He was no longer worried about the ache in his head; that seemed a minor inconvenience when compared to the discomfort of the chill wind which now whipped straight into the cave off the froth-capped waves of the bay. Occasionally, he forced himself to get to his feet and walk across the cave to the opening; to look out and see for himself the waves crashing ever higher, ever closer to the cave mouth. Calculating as best he could, Frank surmised that it would only be another hour or so, at best, before the waves would make their insidious way into the cave…and then, it would be Cherise alone who might survive. He and Matt had moved the unconscious young woman to the ledge where Erik's bones rested – obviously a safe place from high tides, as they had lain undisturbed for all these decades.

"Hey – you want my jacket for awhile?" Matt was leaning over him, already beginning to shrug out of his coat. "You look like ice, dude. Ice in pain."

"No, no, that's okay. Thanks just the same, but you keep it. We may as well both not freeze." Frank waved away the offer. "I'll be fine a while longer." He forced a wry grin. "Cold, but fine." He closed his eyes, holding them closed and drawing in a long breath as he heard Matt's reluctant retreat. _Okay, Hardy, up on your feet. Moving around will keep you warmer, remember?_ He forced himself up, and prowled the little cave again, coming to a halt near that ledge. The ledge which held Cherise – and Erik. Emily still hovered there, seemingly unwilling – or unable – to leave. Frank sighed again. _I thought she'd leave by now. I wonder what it will take for her to…to…let go. To stop holding on, and just…well…move on._

" _You are most cold,"_ Emily's light, disembodied voice startled Frank out of his reverie. _"It's dangerous for you. I've brought you to this…."_

"Nah, you didn't." Frank shook his head in denial. "You didn't have anything to do with us being here; that was those crooks. It wasn't your fault." He wondered, inside his head, just _why_ he was attempting to make a ghost feel better, to not feel guilty about the situation. _That's a question, Hardy, that maybe you don't really want an answer to…._ He tamped down on the thought, deciding to just ignore it, and began to pace again. "I guess I'd better keep moving – Matt, I think you ought to move around too. You don't want to get so cold you're too stiff to function."

Grumbling beneath his breath, Matt got to his feet. Frank caught a few words of the muttered complaints. "…Macey's gonna kill me for this…good thing she's way long distance; man, she'll chew me out for weeks…months…" He moved over to the ledge, to stand next to Frank, and they both stood regarding Cherise somberly, shielding her from the relentless bite of the wind.

Frank, calling upon all that he could remember from first aid classes, checked her over again, concerned with his findings. Cherise remained unconscious, she hadn't waked at all, she was slowly succumbing to the cold, and who knew when the last time she'd been given food or water might be? Had their captors tended to her at all? Surely, they must have; she would have died before now, if they hadn't.

 _And how's Joe? Is he all right? Did he make it off the cliff, or did he fall…and I wasn't there to help him? What if he's lying on those rocks, even now, bloody and battered? I'll never know until it's…too late. All I can do is hope – and pray – that he's all right, and that he made it. That he didn't freeze to death. That he didn't fall off the cliff into the bay. That he didn't bump his head on something, or slip and fall onto the rocks…._

 _All right!_ Frank chastised himself sharply. _Stop it, just stop it! Don't go there. Stop thinking the worst! Joe's strong, and he'll make it. He's in better shape than_ _you_ _are, at the moment, remember? So stop worrying about him. Now. That's an order._

Right.

It was easy to say it to himself, but not so easy to believe it. He began to pace again, in the cramped confines of the cave, swerving to avoid Matt, to avoid running into – _through?_ – Emily, who was now watching him with sad, regretful eyes. Occasionally he glanced out at the water, morbidly fascinated by the ever-rising waves. _I don't like waiting here to be rescued. I should have gone for help instead of Joe. I could have done it…._

He sighed. _I could've splattered myself all over the cliff, is what I could have done. Joe was right. I was already hurt, and he wasn't. Matt isn't experienced at climbing cliffs, and doesn't know the territory. Joe was the logical choice. I had to let him go._

Turning once again, he walked back to the ledge where Cherise lay, with Matt crouched near, trying to shield her from the cold whips of the wind. Frank checked her, discouraged. She was so still and pale and so very cold, seeming to huddle into Joe's jacket even in her unconscious state.

 _What's that?_

Knitting his dark brows, and straining to see in the soft moonlight – his eyesight had adapted to the low light conditions, but still, there were limits – Frank peered curiously at something which had caught his eye; something half-hidden behind the skeleton's remains, half-concealed in the wall.

"Emily – excuse me, please," he murmured, stepping forward. He found no incongruity in the fact that he was excusing himself to a ghost. Emily was…well, she was a friend, in a way, or at least no longer an adversary. _No reason to be rude, right?_ Very gently, he shifted a few of Erik's bones to one side, then poked a finger into a small crevice in the wall behind the skeleton. He concentrated, digging in further, and after a few seconds' probing search, he tugged on something, pulling out what appeared to be a moldy leather pouch.

"Whoa, dude," he heard Matt say, "what did you find?"

"Not sure." Frank shook his head. "I don't know what it is," he continued softly. "Something in the wall…."

Experimentally, he tugged on the cord that held the pouch closed. It had been knotted, and the strings were seemingly frozen that way; it resisted his efforts. Wishing once more for his knife, Frank glanced around the cave and finally spotted what looked like a promisingly sharp rock. He took his find over to it, and began to rub the cord across the edge in a sawing motion. Matt came to hang over his shoulder, watching in fascination.

Finally, it gave way with a dull popping sound, and Frank managed to pull the pouch open. Turning it upside down, he held the other hand beneath, cautiously pouring some of the contents into his palm. Even in the pale moonlight, the bright flash and glitter was startling…and mesmerizing.

"Whoa! Wouldja look at that!" Matt's soft exclamation broke the hush. "The French treasure!"


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, BMSH, max2013 and Sarai, for commenting.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By

EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 29

"Joe?" Officer Jeremy Isaacs squatted beside the younger Hardy, a hand resting reassuringly on his blanket-shrouded shoulder. To his relief, Joe's intermittent periods of consciousness were becoming more frequent and of longer duration. "I'm going to leave you in these nice peoples' capable hands, okay?" He waved a hand towards the nearby paramedics. "They'll take good care of you – get you to the hospital to get checked out. And I'll go find Frank—"

"And Matt," Joe interposed weakly, "and Cherise."

"And Matt and Cherise," Jeremy echoed, nodding.

"Hurry, please…they're…gonna drown. 'M not…kidding!" Joe's slightly hazy blue gaze fastened on the young policeman's face with surprising intensity.

"I know you're not kidding; I'll hurry. Now you just take it easy—"

"J'remy?" Joe's hand snaked out from the blanket wrapping him, to grasp the police officer's arm.

"Yes, Joe?" Isaacs, wanting to be on the move, strove for patience.

Joe concentrated fiercely, trying to remember why this was so important, why Jeremy Isaacs needed to know. "There're…there might be….Okay, there's probably a – a bunch of people – at the lighthouse. Or the…cottage. The ones who – who stuck us in…the cave. So…be careful, 'kay?"

"Got it. I will be." Jeremy nodded. "I'll call for backup. I'm on my way!" With a last comforting pat, Isaacs got to his feet and departed with a hasty word of thanks to Helen Merrick.

Reaching his car, Jeremy activated his radio, calling in with the report of civilians trapped in a cave on the cliff below Stone Point lighthouse and armed criminals _at_ the lighthouse. Assured that rescue vehicles and backup were being dispatched, he started the car and drove the short distance to the lighthouse. To his surprise, just as he pulled up, three men emerged from the light-keeper's cottage!

Jeremy slammed on the brakes, shoved the vehicle into Park, and flicked his headlights to High beam, pinning the fleeing men in the brilliance. He flung open his door, pulling his gun and bracing it. The three men stood frozen in the glaring light, holding their hands up to shield their eyes.

"Bayport police! Hold it right there! All of you, up against the wall behind you, hands on your head. Legs spread. MOVE!" he bellowed – and was inwardly thrilled that his voice didn't crack!

Two of the men obeyed, moving into position without hesitation. The third, however, sensing that Jeremy was alone, glared at him and stepped slowly towards the police car. Jeremy cocked his gun, praying he wouldn't actually have to _shoot_ anyone, and repeated the command.

"This is your last warning! Up against the wall – NOW!" He pointed the gun directly at the man, holding it steady and braced. For a moment, the man hesitated, seemingly frozen in place, staring into the headlights with a baleful expression – and then he turned slowly, joining his companions, and placed his hands up against the wall of the cottage.

Isaacs got out of the car with care, keeping his gun trained on the trio of thugs. _Jeez, I hope backup gets here soon!_ "Nobody move," he barked, as he moved around the car door. "Hug that wall, now!" He blew out a silent breath of relief as they meekly obeyed. _Looks like those arrest procedure classes at the Academy are coming in handy after all!_ He waited, not daring to try frisking his captives yet, knowing that it would be foolish to risk patting down someone when he had three suspects to handle!

After what seemed like a short eternity to the young officer, backup arrived, with a squeal of sirens and tires, and a psychedelic strobe of flashing lights. Feeling more confident with assistance at his back, Jeremy Isaacs holstered his gun and strode forward to pat down the three men plastered against the cottage wall. He found – not much to his surprise – that all three were armed.

"Where's Frank Hardy?" Jeremy demanded at last, turning one of them about by the shoulder and moving into his personal space – _get into his face, yeah, like we learned in class!_ He'd done it once or twice before, 'for real,' but never with quite this much at stake! "Make it easy on yourself and tell me!"

His captive responded with an expletive that Jeremy wouldn't have wanted his grandmother to hear. He glared at the thug, then smiled sweetly and backed up. "That's okay," he said. "I already know. Sorry, you lost your chance, though." He glanced about as two other uniforms moved in to keep an eye on the three hoodlums. "Okay, somebody get me some ropes – and move one of the cars near the edge!" he shouted. "We have a rescue to make. Get that second ambulance over here; we may need some of their equipment!"

The sergeant who was standing near him made a face, indicating his dislike of what they were going to do – then grinned and nodded. It was Jeremy Isaacs' collar, and his show for now, but the sergeant would be watching, just in case.

Jeremy grabbed one of the ropes which had been produced – and found it abruptly being yanked from his hand by one of the firefighters, as a second one pushed him back! "Hey!" He grabbed at the rope, trying to retrieve it.

"Jer, let me have it. Let me go down." The voice was low, undeniably feminine, and surprisingly familiar.

"Dani Tanner!" Jeremy felt a smile break over his face despite his worry. Friends of the Hardy brothers seemed to pop up when you least expected them. He'd met Danielle a few weeks before, at a small party at the Hardys' home. That still embarrassed Jeremy a little – he could scarcely believe that they'd thrown a party to thank him for saving Laura! Well, and to celebrate the fact that the Bayport Arsonist had been captured…and Dani had had a part in that, he recalled.

"I'm trained for this; this is what they pay me to do," Dani continued, still tugging at the rope they both held.

"I've done some climbing, but…" Jeremy shrugged and relinquished his hold. "Okay, it's all yours. Thanks."

"Good – I didn't want to have to wrestle you for it." Dani gathered up the rope and attached it to the rappelling apparatus she wore. She touched a switch on her helmet, turning on a beam of light, then went to the edge of the cliff, called out "Climbing!" and disappeared over the edge into the darkness.

#####

 _Give me a burning building any day!_ Danielle Tanner thought, as she jumped out over the cliff edge and began her descent. She felt the cold, salty spray of the ocean whip against her as she made her way down. _I hate water rescues! I really, really hate water rescues!_ Of course, technically this wasn't exactly a _water_ rescue – she wasn't intending on leaping into the bay, after all – but it was too close for any degree of comfort!

 _Stop complaining, Dani, you told Jeremy you were trained for it; you wouldn't let him do it, so just stop it!_ Dani proceeded to drop another few feet, sighing with resignation. _I'll do my job and I'll rescue my friend – and then I'm going to promise myself not to do this any more! There are other people in the squad who get a big thrill out of cliffs and water – let_ _them_ _do it next time!_ Still, she hadn't been able to resist, knowing it was Frank Hardy down there at risk – and darn it, it would make an awfully good story to tell Jack later! Of course, Jack would have a fit – both at her danger and at Frank's….

She stopped for a moment, angling her helmet, shining the light across the cliff face and then downward, searching for the cave opening. _Ah, there it is! Off to the left and just a little ways down!_ _Sheesh, that water's close!_ It was actually splashing into the cave occasionally, as the waves grew higher. She grabbed a handhold to one side and pulled herself toward the opening, then slid down a little further on her rope. At last she was able to grip the edge of the opening and swing herself into the cave, her feet skidding on the wet stone. She was immensely grateful to feel solidity beneath her boots again! She stepped further in and released herself from the climbing apparatus, securing it carefully. She smiled as she took in the sight of Frank, standing near the back of the cave, hunched over with his hands in his jacket pockets, blinking in the glare of the headlamp beam.

"I swear, Frankenstein, you do find yourself in the most interesting places!"

Frank's head jerked up. "DANI?"

"In the flesh." Dani took the extra flashlight from her jacket pocket and switched it on, increasing the illumination in the cave. "You trying to freeze to death now, or drown, instead of burning to death?"

"Jeez, Tanner, I d-dunno." Frank's teeth were chattering so that his words came out in a series of choppy little syllables. "I k-kinda thought I was p-planning to live f-forever! How 'bout a l-little l-less talk, and more rescue?"

"I don't want to make a habit of pulling your butt out of the fire, Hardy – or the cave, as the case may be." Dani's smile took the sting from her words. "People might start talking."

"L-let 'em talk," Frank shrugged, still shivering. "C-come look at Cherise, please, Dani. She needs help; we've g-got to g-get her outta here!"

Matt stepped forward, his curiosity aroused by the easy give-and-take between Frank and this shadowy rescuer. Since Dani was carrying all the light sources, he could barely see her through the glare. "Hi, I'm Matt – who're you?"

Frank, chuckling a little, performed hasty introductions as Dani handed Matt the flashlight with a quiet request to hold it for her, and then bent over Cherise. She remained nearly silent for a few moments as she did a quick check of vitals, only making soft _tsk-tsk_ sounds at the results.

"Okay, Frankenstein, I agree. Getting her out of here right away is better than bringing more help down." Dani pulled her two-way radio from a pocket and busied herself requesting a basket stretcher to be lowered ASAP. "And toss in a couple of extra blankets," she added, "I've got two very chilly people down here who would appreciate 'em!" Putting the radio away, Dani turned, letting her helmet light play over the cave's interior. Abruptly, she stopped, jerking back. "What is THAT?"

Frank and Matt both grinned a little at the girl's shocked tone. "Oh – well, that is – at least we think – that's Erik," Frank faltered.

"Erik? Erik who?"

"I don't know his last name," Frank admitted.

"Frankenstein, how the heck do you know his FIRST name? It's a skeleton, for Pete's sake!" Dani demanded, still staring with shocked wonder at the skeletal remains.

"Dani, don't ask me that. Because I'm not going to tell you – and you wouldn't believe me if I did." Frank cast a discreet glance at Erik's bones. Emily had disappeared when Dani showed up, but he wouldn't be surprised if she was hovering invisibly somewhere nearby. He noticed that Matt was surreptitiously looking around too.

Dani gave him a long, speculative look, then finally rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Okay, okay, whatever." She turned away, then suddenly swung back for one more remark: "You will tell me someday, won't you?"

"Um…maybe."

"Dani—" Matt glanced at Frank, hoping the other man wouldn't kill him for what he was about to do. Diverting Dani's attention was called for! "Frank hit his head before we got stuck in here – he was out for quite a while…."

"He was?" Dani's eyes narrowed, homing in on Frank with disconcerting intensity.

"Matt!" Frank let out an exasperated shout as Ms. Tanner's professional attention was suddenly focused on _him_ instead of Cherise. Submitting unwillingly, Frank glared at his friend. "Eckersley, I'll pay you back for this one, count on it!"

###

It took about twenty minutes altogether – for Cherise to be secured in the basket stretcher and sent up; for Dani and the other rescue squad members to rappel first Matt, then Frank, up to the top of the cliff. Matt, remembering all too vividly his last experience on these cliffs, kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut through the whole thing. Both he and Frank continued to shiver with cold, once they were up top, despite being wrapped in blankets, and they found themselves being ushered to a _third_ ambulance for a ride to the hospital. They might have protested, but upon hearing that Joe was already there, decided not to fight it.

As he was about to get in, however, Frank glanced at the three sullen figures still under guard nearby. He frowned a little, and looked about again, seeking something he didn't find. "Jeremy?"

"What?"

"Where is she?"

"Where is who?" The police officer sounded very confused.

"The woman – Mallory something….Mallory Rutledge, that was her name. She's the one who was behind all this! Don't you have her?"

He didn't need to hear Jeremy's answer, the young man's expression said it all.

 _Uh-oh._ The case wasn't over yet – not by a long shot!


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you to Cherylann, max2013, BMSH and Sarai for the feedback and comments!

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 30

 _Warm…comfortable. Oh, yeah…._

His head lay on something soft and pliable which allowed him to relax back into it and be warm as ever; even if it did still ache slightly, it wasn't enough to keep him awake. Frank tugged his blanket and bedspread further up over his shoulders, then sighed and shut his eyes tightly, firmly intending to return to sleep immediately.

 _There was something I needed to do._ The thought nagged at the back of his mind. _It was something fairly important._ Important or not, whatever it was, was no match for the siren call of sleep, and Frank was quite willing to succumb….

"Frank? You getting up?" The intrusive voice came from somewhere in the vicinity of his bedroom door. Frank merely burrowed further into his pillow and tried to ignore it. "Come on, Frank, I know you're awake. Get up. We have to get going. We have work to do – important work."

Frank frowned and opened his eyes the merest slit, just enough to send a full-wattage glare in his younger brother's direction. "Go away," he rasped, before closing his eyes again.

Instead of going away, Joe resorted to more invasive tactics. The overhead light was flipped on, and Frank groaned, putting his arm across his eyes to block out the brightness. _He's not playing fair – Mooooommmm, Joe's being mean!_ He would have shot another glare in Joe's direction if he'd thought it would do any good, but years of experience told him it was of little use.

And Joe was right – he did have things to do. He remembered now. Such as turning in that little sack of jewels he'd neglected to give to Jeremy last night…such as finding the missing Mallory Rutledge, who had somehow managed to elude capture and was still running around loose, ready, willing and able to cause more trouble for people – perhaps even for himself and Joe. Such as calling Megan, who no doubt was wondering why he wasn't at school today.

Heaving a long, heartfelt sigh and giving Joe a reproachful look which the younger Hardy blithely ignored, Frank sat up and knuckled his eyes forcefully to clear them of sleep. He opened them and tried for another full-bore glare at Joe – just for effect, although it seemed to have none; Joe just smiled at him sweetly – and then reluctantly got out of bed and stumbled across the room towards the bathroom.

"I'm up, I'm up, see?" he announced. "You can leave now." He squinted blearily at his younger brother. "Why are you so perky this morning anyway? I thought you were recovering from hypothermia, or bubonic plague or distemper, or something."

Joe gave him a disparaging look. "Distemper, huh…" His grin surfaced. "I slept like a log – I feel like a million bucks! Figured I'd get in the Aztek, go and get…." His voice trailed off.

Frank turned to look back at him, and halted, keeping the door to the bathroom open when he saw the stricken look of realization on Joe's face. _The Aztek. Uh-oh. I'm not the only one being forgetful this morning, obviously!_

Joe groaned loudly and slammed the doorjamb with his hand in frustrated fury. He winced as the blow jarred his hand. "My CAR! Dammit, I completely forgot about the Aztek! Shoot, now I've got to talk to the insurance people, and now I've got no car, and—"

"I already called our insurance agent, Joe." Frank heard his mother's voice from the hallway. "He's working on it. And Vanessa called, earlier, before you were up. She wants you to call her. Frank, Megan called as well. And breakfast – well, brunch, I suppose – is ready when you're dressed."

"Thanks, Mom, you're super!" Joe was gone in a flash, stopping to give Laura a brief hug in passing before darting into his room.

Frank heard him banging around in his room for a few moments, then the familiar words: "Hey, babe," as Joe reached Vanessa by phone. Grinning at his younger brother's mercurial temperament – _he's up and down like a yo-yo!_ – Frank turned on the water for his shower.

Ten minutes later Frank emerged from the bathroom feeling more human, and at least a bit more capable of taking on a new day. Clean, shaved and teeth brushed, he puttered about a bit, selecting clothes for the day. _Call Megan, call Megan,_ he reminded himself, and glancing at his wristwatch, tried to recall where she would be now. He didn't want to interrupt her while she was in class. And he wasn't really sure just how much detail he wanted to go into about the night before – but then, she'd already talked to his mother, and probably would hear about it from Vanessa, if she hadn't done so already.

 _But I hate to worry her. And everything turned out okay, after all. Well, if you don't count the fact that Mallory Rutledge is still on the loose._

Dressed, Frank straggled downstairs to the kitchen and settled himself at the table, pleasantly surprised to find one of his favorite breakfasts. Scrambled eggs, along with Laura's made-from-scratch pancakes. Orange juice, sliced bananas, bacon, and BOTH maple and chocolate syrup for the pancakes! _All right!_

"Happy birthday, honey!" Laura kissed his forehead as she poured his juice.

His birthday! "Thanks, Mom." Frank smiled up at her. "I'd actually forgotten it was my birthday!"

"I'm not sure if we'll be able to do much celebrating today," Laura went on, looking a little concerned. "There's an awful lot of things that have to be done today, with all that happened last night – and of course, your dad's not home. He's due back tomorrow, though. Do you think we could hold off on a birthday dinner until then? Would you mind?"

"I don't mind," Frank assured her. "You're right, I'm going to be busy today. And I'm not sure I could stay awake for a celebration tonight anyway; I want to hit the sack early!"

"You really think you're all right?" Laura pinned him with an assessing gaze.

"I'm fine, Mom. I've got a little bit of a residual headache from last night's bang on the head, but other than that, I feel just fine."

Shambling footsteps announced Matt's arrival in the kitchen; he was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, but rubbing his eyes sleepily and looking as if he'd rather be in bed.

"Matt – you okay? You didn't have to get up, you know." Frank was a little worried about his friend. "Why didn't you stay in bed and sleep awhile longer?"

"Nah, I wanted to get up." Matt yawned and sank into a chair. "I had some really weird dreams this morning, and I'd just rather not risk any more, ya know? Besides—" he sniffed inquiringly. "I thought I smelled pancakes." Matt's grin spread across his face as he spied the plateful on the table. "No way am I going to sleep through pancakes, dude! Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had homemade pancakes?"

"Nope," Frank chuckled. Laura, laughing too, swiftly set a plate and silverware in front of Matt.

"YEARS, man! Phil can't make 'em, and I certainly don't cook 'em, and Macey – well, let's just say that I don't love Macey for her culinary skills!" Matt reached for the pancakes and moved several to his plate, then added butter and a generous helping of maple syrup. "This is awesome, Mrs. H!"

A few minutes later, Joe appeared. Surveying the scene, he grabbed a plate and fork, then swept up half the remaining pancakes. Smirking, he snagged the chocolate syrup just as Frank was reaching for it.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, bro, you snooze, you lose." Joe held the syrup container just out of reach for a moment, then handed it back with a laugh. "Here you go, happy birthday. Vanessa says so too."

"Dude, it's your birthday? I remember you saying it was coming up, but I didn't know it was today! I'da gotten you something, if I had – Happy Birthday, man!"

"Don't worry, Matt, I didn't get him anything either," Joe quipped, stuffing a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

"That's nothing new," Frank observed with a smile, and got up to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey!" Joe protested with his mouth full. "I always get you something!"

"Uh-huh. Socks. An occasional tie. Once I remember you gave me shoelaces." Frank held up the coffee pot, brows lifted inquiringly. Seeing both Joe and Matt nod with enthusiasm, he poured two more cups.

"It's the thought that counts?" Joe ventured hopefully.

Frank laughed. "Maybe it is, since that's your lame excuse for lame presents." He sat down again, dodging as Joe whapped him on the arm.

"Mom," Joe turned his attention to his mother, smiling his most beguiling smile. "Can I borrow your car? Since mine is still at the bottom of the bay? And what did the insurance agent say, anyway?"

"Yes, I suppose so," his mother replied. "One of the investigators is going to meet you at the lighthouse today; hopefully they'll get your car fished out of the water fairly quickly. Maybe it won't be a total loss, honey."

"There's a police statement for them to check too," Joe reminded her. He turned to Frank and Matt. "We all need to give those, remember?"

Laura nodded her understanding, and poured herself another cup of coffee. Matt nodded as well, his mouth too full to speak. Frank didn't bother; he was too busy snagging the last of the pancakes and drenching them in chocolate syrup.

 _Ah, now_ _this_ _is a birthday breakfast! Or, it will be, if I can keep Joe from hogging all the bacon!_ Forestalling Joe's attempt to corral all the bacon, Frank took a couple of slices and chewed industriously on one while he thought about the day's activities. _I have to go to the police station, and give a statement about last night. I have to give the jewels to someone – Con, I suppose. Won't he be surprised!? I should go out to the lighthouse; Joe might need a hand with all the stuff for his car._

His thoughts were interrupted by Joe's abrupt departure. The younger Hardy pushed back his chair, grabbed a set of keys to Laura's car from a hook near the back door, and was gone, yelling back, "Gotta run! Happy Birthday, Frank – come by the lighthouse later, okay?" Frank smiled and shook his head, and returned to his breakfast.

When he was finally finished, Frank got up and went over to his mother, who was putting things away and loading the dishwasher. "Thanks, Mom," he said, kissing her cheek fondly. "That was a great breakfast! I'd better get going. We have to run by the police station; I need to talk to Con." He paused to give her a keen look. "You'll be okay here?"

Laura laughed. "Sweetie, I'm home alone a LOT, you know! Where did all this protectiveness come from? Scoot along now, and get your work done. I'll see you this evening. Don't forget to ask Megan to come for dinner tomorrow night, all right?"

"I won't forget," Frank promised. "You about ready, Matt?"

"Yeah, dude, but gimme a minute to change clothes!" Matt pushed back his chair and started from the room, then turned back for a second. "Thanks again for the great breakfast, Mrs. Hardy!"

###

A short time later Frank and Matt parked in a visitor parking lot adjacent to the police station, and went inside. With the ease of long familiarity, Frank led the way to Con Riley's cubicle, where they found the police detective sitting at his desk, frowning over paperwork.

Without preliminary, Frank calmly sat down in the visitor's chair. Matt hovered behind him, looking slightly uncertain.

Con looked up from the form he was filling out. "Please, make yourself at home, Frank," he said sarcastically.

"Hey, I thought you wanted to take my statement about last night." Frank gave him a sweet smile. "You going to, or not?"

"When I have time I will." Riley returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk, although his mouth twitched a little.

Matt, somewhat incredulous at Frank's flippant exchange with the detective, rolled his eyes, but exchanged impish grins with his friend. If Frank thought he could get away with being this sassy to a police officer, who was he to tell him to stop, after all?

"Con, I've got something to give to you," Frank said then. "I had them last night, but by the time we were rescued, I forgot about them." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a leather pouch, worn and cracked with age. He laid it on Con's desk.

"Seems to me that's becoming a habit with you. First that chain with the coin attached, now this." Riley eyed it curiously. "What's is it?" He lifted the bag and tugged at the stiffened cord holding it shut. When he got the pouch open and peered inside, his dark brows shot up in shock. "HOLY COW!" he gasped. "Where did you get this?"

Frank grinned again. "In that cave where we were being held last night. They were tucked into a little niche in the rocks – behind the skeleton." He grimaced a little, remembering Erik's demise. "I think they're the French treasure that Cherise LeGault told us about," he explained to the dumbfounded Riley. "Legendary jewels that disappeared somewhere in the early 1900s. They didn't have anything to do with the skeleton that was there, other than that they were hidden behind it."

"That is so creepy," Matt chimed in softly. "To think of that crazy-sick light keeper stashing them there and never saying anything about the bones!"

"The jewels are supposed to be cursed," Frank added, dark eyes sparkling wickedly, and watched Con hastily return the gems to their pouch. "Con, I think that's what the thieves were after all along," he continued more seriously. "There was a magazine article about them that came out not too long ago. It makes more sense than anyone actually trying to steal the prism lens – jewels are sturdy, portable, and worth more than the lens, without all the fuss involved!"

Con nodded and leaned back, his eyes still fixed on the innocuous-seeming little pouch on his desk top. "Okay," he sighed, "let's have the statements, then."

Matt offered to let Frank go first, and gratefully accepted Con's offer of another cup of coffee while he waited for his turn. Frank went with Riley into one of the interrogation rooms, and waited while the detective set up the tape recorder. Then he set about describing to Con what had occurred the previous night.

Frank was meticulous and detailed, but he did omit one small item – the way the shackle keys had gotten in their possession. "The wind was blowing quite hard, and it blew the keys to where Joe could get to them," he told Con. There was absolutely no way he was going to mention _Emily_ to Con Riley! Con was open-minded and fair, a good friend, and pretty understanding, but Frank had the feeling that if he started talking about ghosts – homicidal, helpful, whatever – the police officer would be calling for the men in white coats immediately!

When they were through, Frank thanked Con for his time, and then spent the next quarter-hour drinking police station coffee and waiting while Matt went through the same procedure. He wasn't worried about Matt spilling the beans about Emily; they'd already discussed that aspect on the way downtown.

"Con," he asked, when Matt was finished and they were ready to leave, "Has Joe been by today?"

Riley nodded affirmatively. "He was here earlier, but one of the other officers took his statement; I didn't talk to him, other than to just say 'hi.' Now," he squared his shoulders, "you're done; get outta here. I have real work to do." His smile removed the sting from his words. "Listen up, Frank, you guys try to stay away from pirates, treasure, and damp caves in the near future, huh?"

Frank grinned cheerfully. "We'll do our best. Oh – any word on Mallory Rutledge, Con?"

"Nope," Riley shook his head, "but we'll get her eventually."

When they reached the Saturn, Frank slid behind the wheel but didn't start the motor; instead, he pulled out his cell phone. "I want to give Megan a call," he told Matt. "She should be out of class right now."

"Sure, dude, go ahead." Matt leaned back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes. "I'm gonna take a nap."

" _About time you called,"_ were Megan's first words, and Frank chuckled.

"Caller ID takes all the fun out of this," he remarked.

" _Never mind that, TELL ME what happened!"_ his girlfriend demanded.

Frank obliged, filling her in on everything which had happened the night before; his memory occasionally prodded by a soft comment from Matt. "Emily decided I hadn't murdered her just in time," he noted. "But even without being her target, we almost bought it anyway! I'm glad you weren't along, baby – no way do I want you in danger like that!"

" _Maybe if I had been, you wouldn't have_ _been_ _in danger like that,"_ Megan commented dryly. _"So what's on for the rest of the day?"_

"Well, I want to call the hospital and find out how Cherise is doing," Frank told her. "She was in pretty bad shape – although she did wake up before we left, last night. This morning, I mean. And we're going to go out and join Joe at the lighthouse – they're fishing his car out of the Bay."

"Poor Joe. Happy Birthday, by the way."

"Thanks, baby. Oh, that reminds me, you're invited over for a birthday dinner tomorrow night – if you wanna come, that is," he tossed off negligently.

" _I think I could do that,"_ she said thoughtfully. _"Unless I get a better offer, of course – Frank, stop sputtering like that! Do you want to see me tonight?"_

"I always want to see you," he responded fervently. "Maybe we could go out to dinner tonight, just the two of us."

" _That sounds promising – I might like that. Although I assume you mean split a pizza? Or something equally romantic and high-class?"_ she teased.

"You keep it up and you're buying, wherever it is," he grinned. "All right, sweets, I've got to go. Joe needs someone out there to hold his hand and commiserate with him over the loss of that Aztek!"

" _Good luck. I'll talk to you later – I love you, darling!"_

"Love you too – miss you!" Frank regretfully ended the call, and then was forced to whack Matt on the arm; his friend was chortling and making _goo-goo-kissy-face_ noises.

"And I thought Macey and I were bad!" Matt snorted, and dodged another half-hearted smack aimed at his head.

They drove to Stone Point once again, and parked near the lighthouse. The lot was much fuller than usual, with vehicles of various official sorts parked there. Workers had already brought up the prize: Joe stood near, gazing sadly at the retrieved Aztek – water-logged and obviously ruined – which sat beside the lighthouse itself.

"Hey, bro."

"It's totaled," Joe murmured forlornly. "Totally totaled. They mashed it up before they sent it over the cliff. And it looks like it got banged into the cliff and the rocks a few times, too."

"Hey, I'm really sorry." Frank put a commiserating arm about Joe's shoulders, but Joe shrugged him off.

"It was cursed, you know," he said disconsolately. "Totally cursed. Had to be repaired more times in six months than….Well, I'll have to get a new car, I guess. The insurance should cover quite a bit of the replacement costs, although I guess I'll have to load cargo for Jack for a few more months to pay off the rest. What do you think I should get?" he finished, looking from Frank to Matt.

"A tank!" Matt suggested, grinning.

"Excuse me, boys," a woman's voice interrupted their conversation. Surprised, they turned to see a uniformed female police officer standing nearby. She had mousy brown hair mostly covered by a state patrol broad-brimmed hat, and wore mirrored sunglasses.

"Yes?" Frank said cautiously. "Can we help you?"

"Yes, I'm Officer Ann Cutter, from the State Patrol," the woman introduced herself. "I'm supposed to take a statement from you boys about the events which occurred here at the lighthouse lately. I've been working on a case which involves some rather ingenious thieves who try to steal eccentric items. Odd fancy plates, or large bells from church towers. I heard that there was some speculation that someone was after the lighthouse prism lens, which I understand is very pricey."

Joe shook his head, instinctively feeling wary. "I'm not sure," he hedged. "Personally, I think they were after something else, but we haven't been able to determine what."

"Are you sure? Think hard," the woman persisted. "Did you find anything that thieves might be after, other than the lens? I understand that most of the objects in the light keeper's cottage itself are more historical in value, rather than monetarily. Not worth that much, other than to historians and such. So the lens must be the only item of any value that someone might get a decent price for, on the black market. Correct?"

Frank was about to respond, when Joe, who had been staring rather hard at Officer Ann Cutter, suddenly pointed, and made an abrupt lunge toward the woman.

"It's YOU!" he bellowed.

She instinctively jerked back, away from him – and then turned and sprinted for one of the state patrol cars. She was in it and driving away before the startled boys could react.

"Joe – what—"

"It's her! Mallory Rutledge!" Joe insisted, and raced for the Saturn, intent on pursuit.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you, Cherylann, max2013, Sarai, BMSH, and iheartninjago210 for the kind reviews all the way through. There is just one more chapter after this one, and then your tedium will be over with. (For the record, I think pancakes with chocolate syrup sounds dreadful, but I'm a lenient co-writer!)

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 31

Joe ran flat out for his brother's car, disregarding Laura's elegant gold sedan in favor of the sporty little Saturn. He heard Frank and Matt pounding along behind him, and also heard Frank's gasped imprecations. He suspected Frank thought he'd lost his mind, but his older brother was coming along to back him up, just the same. He flung himself into the front passenger seat and slammed the door; a few seconds later Frank was behind the wheel and shoving the key into the ignition.

Matt yanked open the back door and dove into the car, barely getting the door shut before Frank pushed the accelerator toward the floor and peeled out of the parking lot. "Whoa! Frank, dude, lemme at least fasten my seat belt, here!"

Frank, clicking his own belt into place, depressed the gas pedal once again. "Hang on," he muttered, and set about the pursuit of one Mallory Rutledge.

 _A thousand and one disguises, that one!_ Joe marveled at the sheer audacity of the woman who headed the gang of jewel thieves. _First, she's a woman planning a wedding – blonde hair, always wore those sunglasses, though._ Yesterday, he'd seen her only in the dark, with flashlights' beams, but she'd had chestnut hair and chillingly cold gray eyes. _And now – a state police officer, for Pete's sake! Sunglasses again._ It didn't matter, though; he was sure it was all the same person, no matter how her appearance changed. Those pseudo-sweet tones – charm overlaid with ice! She might disguise her looks, but she _sounded_ the same, every time!

"You sure about this?" Frank was asking him now. "I didn't see her all that well last night. It was dark, and my head felt like it had been split open."

"It's her," Matt confirmed from the back seat before Joe could reply. "It's the voice, man. Totally the same. Her hair color's different today, and I think she may have been wearing colored contacts, but – it was Rutledge, all right!"

"I agree; it's the same woman. And we're not letting her get away," Joe added. "Put your foot down, Frank."

"Fasten your seatbelt, then," his brother admonished, and Joe guiltily obeyed. Frank put on some more speed, happy to be driving something with good pickup, and diminished the distance between the fake police car and his own. Then, much to his passengers' surprise, he decelerated, and dropped back again.

"Hey, what's the deal?" Joe protested. "What the heck are you doing, Frank? You're gonna lose her!"

"No, I'm not going to lose her, at least that's not my intent," Frank replied calmly. "What I am going to do is give her a chance to lead us to her hideout. It can't be too far away, she and her 'boys' have been staking out the lighthouse for days. If it is Mallory, and she doesn't realize we're behind her, she just might take us to where she lives. We just have to be careful."

"Do you think she might live on the boat we saw?" Matt suggested. "Either that sailboat we saw the first time, or the big motor boat? These guys seemed to always be hanging around the lighthouse in some boat or other – and if Rutledge isn't from around here, she might be staying on one of the boats."

"Which means that it might be in a marina," Joe put in. "Good thinking, Eckersley!"

"Definitely a possibility," Frank agreed. "Joe, get out a map and see if you can locate marinas, especially any in the direction we're going."

"Hmmm…" Joe didn't immediately check the glove box for the maps; he was apparently relying on his memory. "I can think of two – maybe three – along this road. But I'm betting I can guess where she lives. Crystal Waters, Frank, don't you think? We should try to get there not too long after she does; otherwise she might try to take off in her boat – assuming she's given up on getting the jewels, that is."

"You're probably right. We need to make sure there aren't any more of her goons around, too," Frank noted grimly. "After all, there are only three in custody, and we have no way of knowing just how many people Rutledge has working for her!"

He could still see the patrol car in the distance, the wan November afternoon sunlight glinting occasionally off the light bar on the roof. She was speeding along the back road toward the marinas along the far eastern edge of Long Island. Like Joe, Frank was fairly sure he knew where she was going, assuming she was going to a marina. A woman like that wouldn't dock her boat just _anywhere_ , after all, and Crystal Waters Beach Plaza was not just any marina. It housed the boats of the rich and famous. He increased the pressure on the gas pedal just slightly. He didn't want to miss her turning off.

As both Frank and Joe had expected, the patrol car swung off the road at the Plaza entrance, and zoomed through the gate with barely enough time to stop and show a membership card. Wondering just how they were going to get in – after all, _they_ weren't members of this posh facility or driving a police car – Frank pulled into the same driveway.

"Anyone have any suggestions about getting in?" he murmured, letting the Saturn creep along at a snail's pace.

"Leave this one to me," Matt said. He dug into the camera case he'd put in Frank's car earlier, and pulled out a card, then another, then one of his cameras – the smallest, lightweight one. "Here, Frank – pass card," he explained, holding one of the cards out to the elder Hardy. "You're the reporter; I'm your camera man. We're here to do a report on the luxuries of the Plaza for the _Bayport Gazette_."

Frank grinned. He wasn't sure it would work, but he was certainly willing to give it a shot! "And Joe?"

At the same time, Joe piped up: "What about me?"

"You're the lackey who carries everything," Matt informed him, his green eyes twinkling. "You don't need a card. Frank, talk fast, dude!"

Frank nodded and pulled up to the gate with its little guardhouse. He flashed a wide, friendly smile, and launched into his spiel: "Hi there, I'm Franklin Morton, with the _Bayport Gazette_. We're here to do a feature article on the Crystal Beach Plaza; I'm going to need an inside look, and of course, we'll be taking just oodles of publicity shots, and interviewing employees such as you, as well as club members, regarding all the luxuries that are available at the Plaza. This could mean lots more business for the Plaza, and of course, everyone can always use more business, right? So if you'll just let us through, we'll get started, and I'll be sure to get back to you for an interview and photos before we leave…."

Looking completely bowled over by the rushing spate of words, the guard weakly waved a hand in acquiescence, and buzzed them through the gate without a dissenting word. Frank smiled sweetly at him and drove through, disregarding the muffled chuckles and snorts from Joe and Matt.

"Dude, you're something else," Matt hissed, as Frank pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. "I didn't know you could talk that fast!"

"Without breathing, too," Joe added as they got out of the Saturn. He sighed as Matt tapped him on the shoulder and handed him the camera case, but accepted it meekly. "I'm not a lackey, I'm a detective," he grumbled beneath his breath, following the other two as they set out. "The things I do for this partnership!"

Matt, completely in character, stopped every so often and took pictures while Frank and Joe looked around, searching for any sign of Mallory Rutledge.

"There!" Frank hissed, and indicated one of the piers. They saw the fake police officer running down the dock, evidently heading for the boat moored at the far end. "Let's go – cautiously!"

The three raced along the docks, keeping Mallory in view; when they neared the boat, they stopped, then proceeded at a soft-footed walk. As they got closer, they could see Mallory up on the top deck, and heard her voice raised in what was evidently an argument with someone.

"Well, and who might you be, and what are you doing here?" A voice behind them made them spin around. An individual whose appearance and bearing screamed 'hoodlum' was standing behind them, his hand already reaching for something in the waistband of his pants.

Joe spotted the gun and reacted instantly, without even thinking. His leg flashed out, knocking the man backwards; before he could recover his balance, Joe's right fist went hard into his face.

"Hello—" the younger Hardy said politely. He narrowed his eyes. "Well, if it isn't 'Mr. Baker,' the man whose car so conveniently broke down near Stone Point," he observed. "And—" the narrowed gaze grew flinty. "Well, whaddya know? Done any more BASE-jumping lately? You creep – consider that kick compliments of my girlfriend! Anyway – hello and goodbye. I've had it with being your victim, scumbag!" He nudged the man's dropped weapon with his toe, then gave it a swift kick. It skidded across the wooden planking and fell into the water with a small _plop_.

Matt raised an eyebrow, lifted his camera and took a picture of their fallen foe, smiling impishly. "We're reporters, dude – don't you have any respect for the press?"

Frank stared at their friend for a moment, hardly able to believe Matt's composure – and then shrugged, and made his way towards the boat again. He left Joe to deal with the man he'd hit, seeing as how the guy was so stunned he was still unable to move. _You knocked him out, you handle it!_

He hunkered down and crept closer to the boat as quietly and slowly as he could, then eased himself onto the gangway. Using every precaution, he stole onto the boat itself, trying his best to move without rocking the large craft unduly. Actually, he doubted that he _could_ rock it too much – the thing was huge; a yacht, rather than a small cruiser.

"Which way?" Matt breathed in his ear.

Frank jumped, startled. He hadn't realized Matt was right there behind him! "Shhh," he whispered. "I'm still thinking…stay close." Silently, he walked towards the stairs toward the bridge.

The afternoon's quiet was abruptly shattered by the sound of a woman's scream, from the upper deck – and then another, this one an eerie banshee's wail! Frank froze in disbelief for just an instant, and felt a cold swirl of wind encircle him – a wind that grew intensely colder and more vicious. He raced forward, followed closely by Matt, knowing what that wind and that banshee screech entailed. _Emily's here – EMILY'S HERE! She's here, and she's obviously up to something again!_

"Who are you? What do you want? Go away!" It was Mallory Rutledge, sounding utterly terrified.

" _It's time,"_ he heard that familiar, sweet, disembodied voice say. He doubled his speed and clattered up the stairs, heedless of making noise now. He leaped onto the deck and stopped, mesmerized by the sight before him. Mallory Rutledge stood inside the small top cabin, facing a slightly translucent figure wearing old-fashioned clothing…and a very angry face!

"NO! Go away! Leave me alone – awwwk!" Rutledge screamed again, then clutched at her throat as if she couldn't breathe, even though she was still screaming. Frank felt a tiny twinge of pity for her; he'd been there.

" _You took these."_ Emily pointed an accusing finger. Frank looked where she was pointing, and saw, to his shock, the old trunk! The one which had been in the underground storage room, which had disappeared so mysteriously! It stood open, and he could see the soft fluff of more old-fashioned clothing inside. _"These are mine. MINE! My own. And you have taken them. I followed – I followed you because you took my things. And I have learned many things about you, you evil witch! You have killed. You murdered to gain your own way, and you tried to kill innocents to get what you wanted. You don't deserve to live!"_

Emily raised her hands then, and the cold, swirling wind rose about them. She stepped forward, pushing her hands outward, and Mallory Rutledge was forced back, step by step. Toward the doorway behind her – toward the railing.

 _She's a ghost – she couldn't be punished for it!_ Frank thought wildly, watching Emily's slow, relentless march. _But even so, I can't let her do it! She mustn't do it, even if she'd never pay the price for having killed someone in cold blood!_ First of all, there'd be no way to prove who did it, and with him and Matt right there, it was almost a sure bet one or the other of them might be implicated. But more importantly, she mustn't do it because…because Emily herself was still innocent of bloodshed. There was no way he would allow her to do this! "Don't let her get by you," he murmured to Matt, as Mallory backed up further, nearing the door, and heard a soft sound of assent from the other man.

And then Frank stepped forward and placed himself between Emily and her potential victim; he stopped and waited, until Emily's gaze focused on him instead of Mallory Rutledge.

" _Frank,"_ she whispered, _"don't try to stop me."_

"Emily, I'm not going to let you do this," he said softly. "I can't let you do this."

" _She deserves to die!"_ she cried. _"Her death is richly deserved! Get out of my way, Frank – don't you know what kind of a woman she is? She tried to kill you and the others, don't you remember?"_

"Of course I remember," he said gently. "Of course I know what she is. That's why she's going to go to prison, Emily, for a long, long time. She deserves to be punished – for trying to kill me, and Joe and Matt, and Cherise – but that punishment isn't yours to give. I can't let you kill her, Emily; I think too much of you for that." He wasn't sure where the words were coming from, and he was almost surprised to hear himself say that last – but he realized it was true. He'd gained some respect and a certain affection for ethereal Emily, somewhere along the way.

Behind him, he heard a tiny sound of amusement from Matt – and Mallory Rutledge's panicked breathing as she realized Frank was bargaining for her life!

"Emily – tell me. Do you really think that killing this woman is the right thing to do?" Frank persisted.

She narrowed her eyes, apparently considering his words – and then her lips tightened. _"Yes. It is. I will make her pay. There have been too many injustices, too many people have gone free and not been made to pay for their crimes! This woman is just like them."_

Frank put up a detaining hand. "No, you can't. I know you're thinking of Elliott…but I won't let you do it."

Before Emily could continue the argument, Frank felt himself shoved roughly from behind. Mallory Rutledge darted towards the door, trying to get around Matt, who valiantly attempted to block her way. Frank staggered forward, nearly falling into Emily – who emitted another banshee screech, summoned her ghost wind, and slammed the door in Mallory's face!

Mallory spun about, her cold eyes wide, filled with both fear and hatred. She watched as Frank picked himself up, glaring at him and Matt, who prudently moved to the side of the cabin. "All right, just what kind of a game is this, anyway? Just what do you think you're doing? And WHO is this strange young woman, and how did she get here?"

Frank smiled thinly. "I'm not trying to do anything except save your life, Ms. Rutledge. If you want me to continue trying to do it, I suggest you shut up. And as for Emily…Emily's a – friend of mine. From the past." He turned back to Emily, who had remained silent through this, her eyes still narrowed and her mouth twisted in dislike. "Emily – what would it take – what would this woman have to do, to make you change your mind?"

Emily obviously had not expected this question. The grimace left her face, and she looked thoughtful. Finally, she replied. _"She will have to confess what she has done – admit to all her crimes. And leave nothing out – for I will know."_

Rutledge laughed scornfully. "Honey, there's no way I'm admitting anything to anyone!"

Instantly, Emily's ghost wind whipped up, filling the cabin with icy blasts of swirling air. Mallory Rutledge was flung back against the closed door. She let out a startled scream, and attempted to break free, but it was apparent that she couldn't move – and after a moment, also apparent that she could barely breathe! Frank saw Emily's fist tighten ever so slightly.

"You have to tell her what you've done," he said quietly. "It's the only way you're getting out of here alive."

Rutledge glared hotly at him, her lips pressed tightly together.

Emily didn't flinch…and then she gently closed her fist a little more. Mallory clutched at her throat, gasping. And finally…

"All right! All right! I'll tell!"

The ghost glided past Frank, moving close to the panting woman pressed against the cabin door. _"Hear this, evil woman: if you leave out anything, one single thing, there will be no saving you. You_ _will_ _tell. You will tell Frank and the others, and then you will tell the police. For if you do not, know this – I will find you again, wherever you may be, and you will pay. You will pay for all you've done, in the coin of MY choosing!"_

"All right, all right." Mallory Rutledge was sobbing now, broken at last.

Frank and Matt gripped her arms and moved her away from the doorway, and Joe quietly opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind himself. He gazed at their captive grimly.

"Let's hear it," he invited.

Once she got started, Mallory Rutledge had a great deal to tell. Frank was stunned, for as well as the things he already knew, there was a lot more he had had no inkling of.

"I read about the jewels in the magazine," Rutledge said. "I knew then that I had to have them! I thought they'd be an easy pickup. No one else had been able to find them, but that's because they weren't smart enough. I know I'm smart enough. I'm the person who's supposed to find the jewels and make them my own. They're supposed to be mine! I was meant to have them! So I and my partner, Jared Blake, came up with a plan."

Frank heard Joe's indrawn breath at that – a partner? Where was this Blake, then?

"We decided to scout out the lighthouse, and make people think that if anything, we were looking to steal the lens. It's well-known that they're worth a lot of money. And use any other excuse to get near the lighthouse and the keeper's cottage, so we could look for the jewels." Rutledge smiled, an evil, complacent smirk. "So after we decided all that, I killed him. I could do it as well alone, and why share if I didn't have to? Besides, he had great taste in boats, and now they belong to me."

Matt gulped, audibly, and the three young men exchanged stricken looks. Mallory Rutledge was far more ruthless than they'd imagined.

"What about the men working for you?" Frank inquired.

Rutledge made a scoffing noise. "I found them easily, and they were cheap. Easy to buy and they would have been easy to get rid of, once we'd located the jewels." She scowled petulantly. "I was all set to move to Tahiti, or somewhere like that – someplace warm, where I could live off the money from the gems and never have to work again! But you – you boys! – you got in the way. You spoiled everything!" she said hotly. "I didn't plan on so much action at the lighthouse, after all. There was never anyone there except that fussy caretaker, until you all started coming around all the time! So I decided to capture you – and that pesky Cherise LeGault! I knew if I put you in that cave we'd found, the weather or the water would finish you off without any more effort from me, and without having to hide your bodies later on. The skeleton that was already there had obviously been there for years, and no one had found it, after all!" Luckily for Mallory's peace of mind, she didn't notice Emily's glittering gaze at this last remark!

"I'd seen the cave from the boat, and explored it. It was perfect, and we could get to it using ropes. The chains and shackles were already there, with the key; I have no idea what it was originally used for. But I was positive that that underground storage room – sort of a glorified root cellar! – was the secret to those hidden jewels! That's why I brought the trunk back here. And I still can't figure out why they weren't there!" Rutledge finished, with a wail of frustration.

Frank smiled. "I can tell you that," he said mildly. "They weren't in the storage room because they were in the cave the whole time."

"WHAT?" she screeched. "NO! That's not possible!"

"And now the police have them," Frank finished gently.

It was too much for Mallory Rutledge. She deflated like a pricked balloon. Frank approached her warily, but she made no attempts to put up a fight. He pulled her arms behind her, and bound her wrists with a piece of rope Joe handed him.

"I already called the police, once I'd tied up that goon outside," Joe announced. "Con should be here any time now, to take them into custody."

Emily had remained silent throughout Mallory's recital. Now she moved close to the woman and glared at her fiercely. _"Remember,"_ she murmured, _"you are going to tell the authorities what you recounted here. If you do not, I will be back. You cannot hide from me, no matter where you go. You will pay for your crimes their way—"_ she pointed to Frank and Joe. _"Or_ _my_ _way."_

And then she disappeared, leaving a half-hysterical Mallory Rutledge cowering in fear.

"Dude," Matt murmured in awe. "I am soooooo glad she's on OUR side!"


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written in 2003, so technology was not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.

Thank you again to all who left reviews and comments on the story. They were very much appreciated.

 **Ghost of November Past**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 32, the conclusion

As brutally cold as it had been getting lately, the weather turned unseasonably warm once more, the day of Frank's 20th birthday dinner. After they finished eating, the Hardy family and their guests gathered on the front porch to enjoy the mild evening. And Frank, Joe and Matt proceeded to explain everything they had found out.

Frank and Megan sat in one porch swing, his arm encircling her shoulders. Vanessa, her ankle propped on a cushioned stool, was in a chair, with Joe perched on the top porch step, close beside her. Matt sprawled lazily in a chaise lounge, and Fenton and Laura occupied the other porch swing, hands clasped between them.

Glancing at Matt, Joe thought to himself with satisfaction that despite all the untoward events he'd had to live through lately, he looked a lot better than he had upon his arrival in Bayport. A week of Laura Hardy's cooking had filled in the hollow cheeks, and Matt's hazel-green eyes sparkled with their old familiar curiosity and fire once more. _Nothing like a little danger and mayhem to combat depression_ , Joe thought to himself with a silent snicker. _Right now Matt's too grateful to be alive to be depressed!_

"It's like this," Frank said. "Way back when, in the 1880s, Emily's father, Gunnar Bergstrom, was the first keeper of Stone Point lighthouse. He and his wife, Jenny, had a daughter, Emily. Now Gunnar was a hard worker, very conscientious, but as you know, being a light keeper didn't pay a great deal. From what I understand, he at first accepted the advances of the man Elliott Pembroke for his daughter's hand, for he felt that it would be a wise move. Elliott was a wealthy man, relatively speaking, and Gunnar naturally wanted his daughter to have the very best. And he thought that Elliott would make a good match for Emily, as well. But then he discovered that Emily was already in love with Erik Halverson."

"As a result," Joe took up the tale, "he decided to let Emily be with the boy she wanted to be with. He and Jenny had married for love, and the practice of arranging marriages for your children was going out of style anyway. Most people tended to let kids marry who they wanted to – at least in more country settings, like Bayport was back then. Pembroke obviously took it badly. He, from what I understand from Emily, wasn't about to let her go. She was the only one 'worthy to be with him,' and he was going places. He was ambitious, and he needed to have his – well, we'd call it a trophy wife, now – wanted to have her with him."

"So when she didn't agree to marry him," Frank continued again, "Elliott killed her boyfriend Erik. He caught them trying to elope, one night. He told Emily that no one was going to stand between them, and he made her watch as he had Erik murdered. Right in front of her eyes. I can't imagine why he thought she'd agree to marry him after that, but apparently he did. When Emily continued to rebuff him, he stabbed her, as well. He hid her body in the back bedroom of the cottage, then arranged to have the fireplace added, for the Bergstroms – as a present to them for the 'loss' of their daughter, whom he was sure they loved. Gunnar and Jenny, of course, assumed that Emily and Erik had run away together, and were happily living somewhere else. Elliott wrapped Emily's body and put it in the trunk – we think – and then he actually took part in building the fireplace!"

"How did you find all this out?" Fenton asked his sons curiously.

"Well, part of it is guesswork," Joe admitted, "but part of it is fact. There's an account in one of the articles in the paper about how Pembroke paid to have the bedroom fireplace built in the keeper's cottage at Stone Point, and how he even built some of it himself – you know, one of those 'oh the great humanitarian' pieces!" he finished with a disdainful sniff. "Obviously we're not going to run to the paper and drag all this up again, but believe me, I have no respect for Elliott Pembroke, former mayor or not! He was rotten to the core. So I really hope that there isn't some long-lost connection between him and you, Dad, despite appearances!"

"Yeah," Frank said. "We're guessing that's what he did. I don't really know for sure about the trunk, except…well, Emily's very attached to that clothes trunk. I didn't ask her, but—"

"You really believe in this ghost, then?" Fenton inquired gently.

"Dad…I know how weird it sounds, but – I don't just believe in her. I KNOW she's real. I have the bruises and the headaches to prove it!"

"And it's not like Frank's the only one that saw her," Joe put in. "Matt and I did too. AND Mallory Rutledge!" he added, grinning spitefully.

Fenton frowned, but said nothing more. Frank wasn't sure whether or not his father believed them, but he wasn't going to argue it any more.

"She'd gotten his coin when he killed her," Joe took up the story again, to break the tension. "and it stayed with her until Frank and Megan found her bones in the fireplace, and Frank picked it up. That caused Emily to fixate on Frank – and the fact that he looks very much like Elliott Pembroke did, made her think that he was Pembroke – at least for a while. Next thing you knew, she was trying to kill him – more than once!"

"And in some very strange ways," Frank put in, recalling how Emily had appeared in his dreams, in the airplane, had pushed him down the lighthouse steps. "But all's well that ends well," he went on, smiling. "Emily knows I didn't do it, she saved our lives in the cave, we kept her from killing Mallory Rutledge. Hopefully, she can rest now."

"That's a noble thing you boys are doing," Laura said softly, "laying Erik and Emily to rest together."

Frank nodded, and turned his head to look at Megan. "Well, it's what I would want, if I was in their shoes. They were separated, even in death…I want them to be together again." Megan smiled back and softly patted his knee.

"And that reward for finding the jewels is nothing to sneeze at," Joe grinned. "I think I'll get a really nice car now. One that's NOT cursed!"

"It'll take some time for everything to get sorted out, son," Fenton reminded his youngest. "But I'll loan you the extra money in the meantime, whatever you need above the insurance settlement."

"Cool!" Joe grinned. "Thanks, Dad!"

"And I really appreciate the camera replacement funds," Matt put in, smiling happily. "The insurance covered a lot of the cost, at least of the one, but now I can get one I've wanted for a long time but couldn't afford. And I got some of the most incredibly awesome photos, too!"

"You're going to do all right when you sell those exclusive photos you took of Mallory's arrest, too," Joe told him. "Talk about being in the right place at the right time, my man! You can market those things on wire services all over the world; she was wanted internationally, after all."

"True, dude." Matt's smile was complacently smug. "And there's definitely a trip to London scheduled for the near future. Maybe two. Just think, Christmas in London…." His voice trailed off into a blissful murmur.

"I think it's nice that the Historical Society gets to keep the treasure," Vanessa observed. "Since the original owner in France is long dead and the sailor who found them is dead – and that light keeper Johannsen, too; and since the Historical Society owns the land the lighthouse is on and is charged with the upkeep. They'll probably sell two or three of the gems to put in the general fund – and put the rest on display somewhere."

"They can keep 'em," Joe said lazily. "WE got the reward for the capture of Mallory Rutledge and her gang of thugs, plus that hefty finder's fee for the jewels. We have enough. I can afford to be generous."

Vanessa shook her head in mock reproof. "You're an awful mercenary, Joe Hardy."

"Now we just have to finish compiling that darned report!" Joe complained. "It's turned into a regular thesis!"

Frank laughed, and cuddled Megan more tightly in his arm. Laura and Fenton exchanged a look, then both got to their feet, excusing themselves and going in the house.

Matt rose too. "I need to get hold of Phil. And I should finish packing, dudes. I'm leaving right after the funeral tomorrow, and I have no intention of getting up early to pack! Night, Megan – g'night, Vanessa. See you tomorrow."

Ignoring Joe and Vanessa – who were ignoring him as well – Frank leaned over to kiss Megan. "Love you, babe…and thank you again for the present." He held out his left arm to admire the beautiful 'everything but the kitchen sink' wristwatch, engraved with his initials, which now adorned it. "I think you were wildly extravagant, but it's wonderful, and I love it." He kissed her again…this time a little more lingeringly.

One corner of his mind was still thinking about birthday presents. The suede sports coat from his parents – that was going to come in handy the next time he and Megan went somewhere nice. Two CDs he'd been wanting, from Joe, rather than socks! A surprisingly generous check in the mail from Aunt Gertrude, in Florida. A box of homemade cookies from Vanessa, who had been unable to get out and purchase anything. And the promise of the pick of Matt's photos of the lighthouse and Barmet Bay, once they were all developed. Enlarged and framed, Matt had assured him.

All in all, it was a pretty good birthday. And a beautiful night.

#####

A light rain began to fall as the six mourners gathered at the small gravesite near the Stone Point Lighthouse, where permission had been granted by the Historical Society to inter the remains of Erik Halverson and Emily Bergstrom. Frank and Megan stood on one side, Joe and Vanessa on the other. At one end, Matt stood beside Cherise LeGault, who was seated in a wheelchair. She still looked pale and a little fragile, but she had not wanted to be left out of this occasion.

Pastor Nichols, from Bayport's Holy Redeemer Lutheran church, had arrived a few minutes before. Unsure what religion Erik or Emily might have subscribed to, the Hardys had gone with a 'best guess;' if they were Swedish or Norwegian, the best bet was probably Lutheran. Now the friendly pastor read appropriate Biblical passages and they watched, smiling, as the small casket containing the two sets of bones was lowered into the earth and covered. As the brief service concluded, the misty rain stopped.

After the pastor had taken his leave, the six of them remained a little longer, watching the sun as it broke briefly through the clouds and sparkled over the waves of Barmet Bay.

" _Thank you, all of you."_ The voice was unfamiliar, masculine this time, with an even more pronounced lilting accent than Emily's. It was a warm voice, filled with light, salt and sand-scented winds, and the soft kiss of sunshine. _"For finding my Emily, for bringing us together."_

Looking where the voice came from, Frank smiled at the blonde, gray-eyed young man – young ghost – and nodded. Erik appeared to be much the same age as he and Joe – but they had the promise of bright futures ahead – a promise never fulfilled in Erik. Frank wondered if he was the only one who could _see_ Erik – and Emily, who stood next to him – and then his question was answered.

"We couldn't do anything less," Megan spoke softly. "We're glad you're together." Her turquoise eyes were wide as she beheld for the first time what Frank, Joe and Matt had been seeing for days. Vanessa smiled fondly; Cherise's mouth hung open in wonderment, but her eyes sparkled with delight.

" _Frank—"_ Emily spoke now, her voice more gentle than he had ever heard it. _"I am very sorry I tried to kill you. I'm…most glad that you…are well."_

Frank smiled and rubbed the back of his head, answering with matching formality. "I am, Emily, thank you. I am most well."

Emily turned towards Matt. _"For you – Matthew, yes? I have something I wish to give you. To remember us fondly."_ She smiled _. "Frank has the chain and the coin, after all, as a remembrance."_

"ME?" Matt squeaked. "You want me to have something?"

Emily nodded. _"I do. It's in the trunk."_

The trunk was sitting on the grass near the gravesite, placed there in honor of the lost lives. Why the Bergstroms had moved it to their storage cellar was unknown, but it, as well as Emily's armoire and chair, would be put upstairs in the keeper's cottage with the rest of the memorabilia, now, all carefully labeled as to whom they had belonged.

Matt looked inquiringly at Cherise, who nodded shaky permission – as if she was likely to countermand anything Emily said! He opened the trunk, and dug into it.

" _There – that."_

Hesitantly, Matt pulled out an old daguerreotype picture. He held it in reverent hands, gazing at a smiling, pictured Emily.

" _Now you have a picture of me,"_ Emily murmured, her smile matching the pictured one. _"I know you wanted one. I wish for you to keep this."_

Matt bit his lip and blinked hard – and then beamed with delight as he showed his new possession to the others. Then he carefully tucked it into his jacket pocket, to take home. "Thank you, Emily," he said softly. "It means a great deal to me."

" _Joseph, I am sorry for my actions against you, and I wish to part as friends."_

Joe swallowed the lump in his throat with difficulty. "We're friends, Emily. Definitely."

" _And now,"_ Erik said, _"we will go. And thank you again, for all you have done to bring us together. Do not mourn that nothing can be done about the one who killed us. For now, for us to be together, is revenge enough. He didn't succeed in what he wanted."_

Smiling and holding each others' hands, he and Emily exchanged a kiss – and then disappeared into nothingness.

The End


End file.
